#the teeth will keep biting and the hands will keep holding

[goldfades]

I feel like we need to have a TikTok trend blurbs I just love the ones you did already.

Like when the reader and Luke is going to bed and he says “goodnight I love you and she says thank you”that one can be good

i love these sm HAHAHHAHAA

the apartment is quiet, the kind of stillness that settles over everything once the day is officially over. you’re in bed, tucked under the covers with the bedside lamp casting a warm glow across the room. luke’s in the bathroom brushing his teeth—you can hear the faint sound of the faucet running and the occasional shuffle of his feet against the tiles.

you’re scrolling through your phone, aimlessly thumbing through videos, when you hear him pad into the room. he’s shirtless, wearing the same old pair of gray sweatpants you always threaten to steal, and his hair’s still slightly damp from his shower. it’s a sight you’ve seen a hundred times, but it still makes your chest do that stupid little flip.

“you on tiktok again?” he teases, climbing into bed and nudging your shoulder with his.

“maybe,” you reply, locking your phone and setting it on the nightstand. “what’s it to you?”

he smirks, leaning back against the pillows and pulling you closer so your head rests against his chest. “just wondering what you’re plotting this time. you’ve been suspiciously quiet lately.”

you roll your eyes, poking his side until he squirms. “not everything’s a scheme, hughes.”

“uh-huh,” he says, voice laced with skepticism but too sleepy to argue further. instead, he wraps an arm around you, his palm warm against your shoulder.

there’s a long stretch of silence, the kind that’s comfortable and familiar. his breathing starts to even out, his hand absently tracing patterns on your arm, and you think he’s on the brink of sleep when he speaks up. your phone is already recording, showing half of your face and the curls behind you.

“goodnight,” he murmurs softly, voice low and drowsy. “i love you.”

you pause for just a second—just enough to be noticeable—before answering in the most nonchalant tone you can muster:

“thank you.”

the room goes still.

his hand stops moving, and you feel his chest rise as he takes a slow, deliberate breath.

“...what?” he asks, his voice sharper now, tinged with confusion.

you shift slightly, pretending to adjust the blankets. “i said thank you.”

he pulls back, just enough to tilt his head and look down at you. “that’s not what you’re supposed to say.”

you blink up at him, feigning innocence. “what do you mean? it’s polite to say thank you when someone says something nice.”

his brows furrow, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head. “but—but that’s not how this works,” he argues, his tone half exasperated, half bewildered. “i say ‘i love you,’ and you’re supposed to say it back!”

“huh,” you say, tapping your chin like you’re deep in thought. “weird. i don’t think that’s a rule.”

“it is a rule,” he insists, sitting up now, the sleepiness completely gone from his face. “it’s literally, like, the rule.”

you bite back a grin, watching as he spirals into full-on disbelief. “are you saying you don’t love me?” he asks, his voice cracking slightly at the end.

“no, i didn’t say that,” you reply, stretching the words out.

“then why didn’t you say it back?!”

you shrug, trying to keep a straight face. “felt like switching things up.”

“switching things up?” he repeats, his voice going higher, and you have to physically turn your head to avoid laughing in his face.

“yeah, keeps the relationship interesting,” you explain, patting his hand like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“oh, my god,” he groans, flopping back against the pillows dramatically. “you’re actually evil. you’re trying to kill me. this is emotional warfare.”

you finally let out the laugh you’ve been holding in, and he turns his head to glare at you, though the corners of his mouth twitch like he’s fighting a smile.

“i hate you,” he mutters, but there’s no real bite to it.

you lean over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “love you too, babe.”

he groans again, but this time he pulls you back into his arms, his chin resting on the top of your head. “you’re lucky you’re cute,” he mumbles.

you grin, snuggling closer. “thanks, love you too.”

“stop saying thank you!”

[beloveds-embrace]

I read your distress from the DukeDom 141 AU and....ajbslywbsoauwjs

You have broken the system, I LOVE the anguish when somehow karma acts and there is divine justice (and König it's divine 🫦🫦🫦)

Do you have some more crumbs for this hungry girl? Pretty please with sprinkles on top? 🥺🥺🫶🏼✨️✨️✨️

Thank you!! The anon who sent the angst ask is just so damn big brained. Phenomenal i hope they know their impact. Enjoy!! 💕💕💕

John stares at you, his eyes unreadable and a little frown on his face. Embers within the fireplace crackle, keeping the study warm against the November chill, while rain pelts against the windows. Despite it being only 2 in the afternoon, the sky is dark and cloudy enough to be mistaken for late evening.

You wait patiently, standing in front of his desk with your hands in front of you. Your face is colder than his.

“So?” You ask at last.

“…why?”

Your eyes close for a few seconds, and then you open them. Your purse your mouth, and then speak.

“Because I want one.” You say, shrugging delicately. “I will be back before the annual winter gala. All work has been finished and submitted, and what can’t be done now has been appropriately delegated with your approval. As such, I would like to go on a holiday, just for a few weeks.”

None of that is an issue, John thinks to himself. You are so cold now, dear wife. Colder than I’ve treated you. None of that is an issue except-

“Who will be you taking with you-“

“König.” You don’t hesitate for a single second. To John, it feels like you are attempting to match the attitude of thunder and lightning outside. “He will be my knight, as he’s always been. I care not for what others guards may join. The estate I’ve chosen already has maids and cooks to upkeep it, yes? That should be everything.”

John wants to say no.

There’s been a shift in you, and he knows they are to blame yet he so terribly dislikes it. König has become your… everything, in a sense. The maids already whispered about you and didn’t help you, and so now you care very little about what they’d say about König being the one to help you get ready for the day. He is your shadow; he brings you food himself, John knows, has seen Johnny grit his teeth and bite his tongue so he doesn’t say how ashamed he feels that he’s made someone feel like they can’t eat his food.

It is aslo König who holds your arm, and takes you on walks. König who listens to what you want, what you ask for, and doesn’t treat you as an afterthought. The one and only time you have spoken to Kyle lately is to simply ask him if he knows where König is.

König was close to you in the way John had been distant to you. In the way all of them had been distant to you.

Now, it feels like you are keeping the distance, despite their attempts at fixing this. It feels like König is keeping the distance, your second shadow. John isn’t blind to the hatred König carries for them, isn’t blind to the possessive way König holds your hands.

And your waist. John had heard how you called out König’s name, one night. He’d seen the delicate way you’d had to sit, seen the way König had been fussing over you.

The implications left his mouth bitter for the rest of the day.

And now….

He wants to say no. He truly does. But if he does it, then he knows he will be subjecting you to more pain. It would mean keeping you here with König, and John having to see it all.

“Very well.” He sighs at last, something green and tight curdling in his stomach. He doesn’t acknowledge it. “I will make sure everything will be ready for you, wife.”

“Thank you.”

And not once do you look at him with that warm, special smile you have only for König.

[starrynightarchive]

say what you will about zosan as a ship but you would be fool if you think they hate each other. they are undeniably best friends.

they get on each other's nerves. they wash dishes together. they are baring their teeth at each other every day. they fight together and it feels like a dance. it feels like breathing. it feels like they have known each other forever. they both think the other is the worst person to ever exist on this planet. they trust each other with their lives. every step, every sprint, every fight. they don't have to look back to see if the other is keeping up because of course he is. he is the most infuriating, head strong, insane bastard in the world. of course he's keeping up. how annoying.

it's unspoken, this bond between them. they could be at each other's throats but when the marines or the world government or even the fucking devil is in front of them to bring them down, they're on their feet. legs blazing, swords unsheathed. they know their way around each other like the back of their hand. one call of the other's name and he's already there, ready to bring the whole world down. they are the wings of the pirate king. they are the pillars that hold up the home that their captain built. they are two sides of the same coin. sanji and zoro, zoro and sanji, sanjiandzoro.

plates always filled with food that smells like home. hands always searching, always reaching out to pull him back to the right path with an obscenity or two or a million more. but for all his whining, he still comes to get him, every single time.

i will keep you safe. i won't let you lose your way.

eyes always watching. grin sharp and mad, words puling him out of the hell that is his mind with a taunt. silent nights spent in each other's company. the back of a sword jabbed at his ribs. silent determination. steady, solid, under your hands as you lose consciousness.

i will keep you safe. i won't let you forget your worth.

they've never known love that doesn't tear out of them, snarling, spitting, biting. they've never known tenderness. the crew teaches them love in their strange, gentle, loud ways and it's beautiful, it's confusing, it hurts in the best way possible. but with each other? they don't have to hold back. there's something so intimate about holding someone by their collar, dragging them close and yelling look. look. this is how i love. i will kick your face in and make you the best meal you've ever had. i will spend all my time thinking of stupid names to call you. i won't ever say you matter to me, but i will die for you. i will trust you with all that is important to me. look at this fucking mess. this is how i will always love. with teeth and nails and intent to kill. are you afraid yet? only to have the other lean closer with a grin so feral and say, do your worst, asshole.

they are nakama. they are rivals. they are friends. what they have cannot be put down in one word but in the end, the word will come down to something close to love.

[libingan]

— tits or ass?

JOHN PRICE

ass man.

john doesn’t bother pretending otherwise—he’s obsessed. there’s nothing he loves more than bending you over the nearest surface, his rough hands spreading your cheeks apart as he takes in the sight. “bloody perfect,” he growls, his voice low and gravelly, his thumb brushing over the soft flesh like it’s his personal reward.

his touch is deliberate, firm as he grips you, his fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to leave bruises he admires later. he’s a man of control, but when it comes to you, he’s shamelessly greedy.

he loves the way your body reacts to him—the way you gasp and moan when his palm cracks against your skin, leaving a red print behind. “can’t help myself,” he mutters, his lips brushing over your neck as he pulls you back onto him, his cock buried deep inside.

“this ass of yours,” he groans, his hips snapping against you as his hands anchor you in place, “drives me fuckin’ mad.” and when you whimper his name, his grip only tightens, his chest rumbling with a deep, possessive growl. by the time he’s done, you’re marked, trembling, and entirely his.

KYLE ‘GAZ’ GARRICK

tits man.

kyle’s obsession is borderline feral. the moment your shirt comes off, his hands are on you, squeezing, kneading, and tugging like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “fuckin’ perfect,” he groans, his voice thick with arousal as his thumbs tease your nipples, brushing over the sensitive peaks.

he’s got a thing for pinning you under him, watching you arch into his touch, your chest rising and falling as you gasp. “can’t ever get enough of you,” he mutters, lowering his mouth to drag his tongue over your skin, sucking and biting until you’re marked and trembling.

he’s greedy, burying his face in your chest, his breath hot and ragged as his hands grip your waist. “these are mine,” he growls, his teeth grazing your nipple, eliciting a sharp gasp that makes him smirk. “all mine. no one else gets to touch you like this.”

and when you’re straddling him, your body pressed close, he’s in heaven. “fuck, you’re gonna kill me someday,” he groans, his hands roaming over your skin like he’s memorizing every curve.

JOHN ‘SOAP’ MACTAVISH

tits man.

soap’s got no shame, and it shows. the second your shirt’s off, he’s all over you, his hands large and warm as they cup your chest, squeezing and teasing like you’re the best thing he’s ever touched. “jesus fuckin’ christ,” he mutters, his accent thick, his voice tinged with awe.

he loves leaving marks, his lips and teeth working over your skin as he sucks and bites, leaving trails of bruises behind. “can’t help myself, lass,” he growls, his voice low and hungry. “ye’re too bloody perfect.”

his favorite thing is having you ride him, your chest in his face while his tongue works over your sensitive skin, sucking and lapping until you’re moaning his name. “that’s it,” he coos, his hands gripping your hips as he guides you, his smirk sharp as he watches you fall apart.

“gonna make sure everyone knows who ye belong to,” he mutters, his breath hot against your skin as his teeth graze over your nipple, making you gasp. he’s relentless, devouring you like you’re his favorite meal, his hands and mouth never leaving your body.

SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY

ass man.

simon’s fixation isn’t just a preference—it’s an obsession. the second he has you alone, you’re face down, ass up, and entirely at his mercy. his hands are firm as they spread you apart, his breath hot against your skin. “bloody beautiful,” he mutters, his voice thick and gravelly, his thumbs pressing into your flesh.

he starts slow, dragging his tongue over your skin, savoring the way your body shudders beneath him. “stay still,” he growls when you squirm, his grip tightening. “don’t make me hold you down.”

the first flick of his tongue over your hole has your breath hitching, and he groans at the way you react. “taste so fuckin’ good,” he rasps, his tongue moving with purpose now, wet and deliberate as he works you over.

his hands keep you spread wide, thumbs digging into your skin as he devours you, sloppy and unrelenting. the obscene sounds he makes—low groans, muffled growls, and the wet slide of his tongue—only add to your undoing.

“this arse,” he mutters, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, “drives me mad.” then he’s back at it, tongue circling and teasing until you’re trembling and gasping his name.

when he finally pulls away, his lips are slick, his dark eyes locked on yours. “mine,” he growls, his voice rough and possessive. “every fuckin’ inch of you.”

[ghouljams]

I feel like each of the 141 has a difference preference when dicking down their mate.

Kyle prefers to stay human, it lets him really get a good show while fucking into the pretty thing he managed to take home. Seeing how your skin contrasts to his softly colored sheets is more reassuring to him that you're his than any scenting could be. Also, he's a lighter sleeper as a human, letting him keep you in his bed if you try to slip out while he's asleep.

Price likes the little hint of other, as a sign of his age and experience. He's the only one of the 141 who can shift only a few senses instead of having to start properly shifting. Let's him memorize your scent while fucking you, all so he can let you have the illusion of choice by letting you go and "finding" you again later. Eventually, he'll make it seem like a bit of fate and offer you out on a date.

Ghost partially shifts, and that's the most he can hold himself back when it comes to you. Claws and teeth come out, drool dripping from his maw to your skin. He needs to taste you, to make sure you taste the same. Taste like his.

Soap is a dog and he will fuck you in full transformation because of it. This man needs you on the most primal level, so why not just fuck you at his most primal. It also gives him a better nose to smell your sweat soaked skin, a longer tongue to shove into you, better hearing to catch each and every whimper you make. He needs to consume you and the best way to do that is with his wolf.

At least, that's my thought.

As usual how does it feel to be so fucking right?

Gaz absolutely prefers fucking you as a human, it feels too much like taking advantage of you when he has his semi-transformed strength and the idea of fucking you fully wolf makes him itch a little. He's so worried about damaging you with his claws and fangs :( his poor human mate, he doesn't want to ruin you. We'll, not like that at least. That won't stop him from knotting you, that's a luxury he can't afford not to indulge in. He loves the way you squirm and complain about the stretch, shushing you with soft coos, promising it'll be over soon, even when he knows it'll be a good 20 minutes at least.

Price is old hat at transformations and after years of growing and shrinking it's worn on his joints, if he doesn't have to transform he won't. He'll indulge in the sensed his wolf-form lends him, pressing his nose to your pulse and getting himself drunk on your scent. His eyes are always dark, animalistic, when he drags his flat tongue against your sex, and you worry that the teeth he's hiding might bite too hard, but he hasn't hurt you yet. And the only scare he gives you is when he presses his hand against your come filled stomach talking about pups.

Ghost simply lacks self control around you. The man has the control of a saint, but once he gets drunk on the scent of your arousal it's over for him. He grips you with heavy clawed hands, his skin splitting with fur and his nose starting to lengthen, and it scares you a little. His breathing is uneven, but his hips don't stop moving even when his bones start to break and his joints begin to pop. His drool dripping onto you is the only indication you get before he's sinking his teeth into your shoulder. You'll have to take wolfsbane in the morning if you don't want to end up going through the same pain.

Soap though... Soap fucks you like a dog, literally. He'll hunt you down on a full moon and hold you down with big paws, murmuring canned tones from his open maw about how he can't stop himself. He's all instinct, all panting and howling as he mounts you and ruts his cock against your sex, uncaring what hole he fucks himself into as long as it's yours. He'll lay directly on top of you once he's knotted you too, licking your face in apology but you know he doesn't mean it because he keeps asking for another round.

[rush-the-stars]

cw: reader is femme presenting in a skirt. and an actor bc im feeling self-indulgent. otherwise n/a. probs ooc for sae lol he’s maybe a lil too playful. but alas.

***

“your friend is trying to set us up.”

the night is damp and cold—biting enough that your fingers and tips of your ears ache with it as you stand outside this swanky, upscale speakeasy. its smoky and dark and smoldering in there, so the night air is a sharp balm, a rush of clarity.

especially after a drink or two had gone to your head.

you’d been dragged out by friends who mean well but are nosy, and desperately trying to get you to let loose. not focus on work—maybe find someone.

you roll your eyes and suck your teeth.

“she knows i don’t like athletes.”

“yeah, i don’t like actors, either.”

you finally let your gaze fall on itoshi sae; dressed smart in black slacks and some expensive, maroon turtleneck. looks maybe like cashmere, or some other soft, plush fabric that would feel a little too good to run your hands over—

his jacket is leather. rich and dark. it looks warm and supple.

and he is handsome. kind of ridiculously so, with his long lashes and artfully tousled hair. but he’s some friend of a friend they’d also dragged out tonight and he’s hardly said a word, hardly changed his facial expression. he’s not really your type, so you don’t really know what your friend is thinking—

“looks like it’s not meant to be then. too bad for her.” you reply with a shrug. you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to keep out more of the frigid wind as it whispers past.

but then you cock your head, consider him for a moment.

“wait. why don’t you like actors?”

there’s just the slightest, most horrible quirk upwards at the corner of his mouth.

there’s a little skip in the tempo of your heartbeat, too.

you bite back a shiver.

“why don’t you like athletes?” he returns easily. he shoves his hands into his pockets and your gaze flickers to them—big and long and lithe—before they disappear into his slacks.

“they’re cocky and smarmy.” you reply.

“funny. i don’t like actors for the same reason.”

“i’m not smarmy.” you snip.

“no, maybe not smarmy.” sae says, “but you’re cocky.”

“i’m confident.” you correct and you make the mistake of facing him and trying to peer up into his face with this little furrow on your brow. he’s half-lidded as he looks down at you, unbothered, except for the glint in his cold eyes—

“you’re vain.” he replies, and you think he’s trying to bite back a smile. “and spoiled. you’re used to getting what you want.”

you make a sound like a scoff, heat rushing to your face for reasons beyond you. it’s not enough to keep out the chill and when you move your hand to your hip, you have to keep your teeth from chattering to say, “because i do get what i want.”

“see?” he says, and you think it’s the most amused he’s been all night, “spoiled.”

it’s enough to irritate you, enough to make your eyes flash.

“i get what i want because i fight for it.” you snap back and now there’s more bite behind your words, crossing your arms across your chest again, “you don’t last long in this industry if you don’t, mr. fancy soccer player.”

you say soccer player with enough disdain that he laughs a little.

it’s the first time you’ve heard him laugh all night. you can’t help but stamp your foot a little;

“ugh! see, you are smarmy!”

“such a temper.” he sighs, “are you always like this?”

“are you always like this?” you bite back.

“cocky and smarmy?” he asks and this time, he smiles a little more—enough to disarm you. he’s got such a stupidly handsome smile. sly in the corners, bit crooked for all his perfection.

he’s so—

“yes!”

he shrugs. the wind rushes past and your teeth finally chatter and click together as you shiver hard.

and then, with his usual apathy, he says, “we should get you back inside. it’s cold out.”

and now he looks over you, holding your arms around your middle and trying to keep warm, shivering in your tights and little skirt. you hadn’t grabbed your jacket on the way out, thinking you’d just get a moment of air. you hadn’t anticipated him to follow you or—

“i’m fine.” you sniff, “i wanted air.”

there’s a moment of silence, before he suddenly moves. he shrugs off his leather jacket and drops it over your shoulders.

you stare up at him in shock as he fixes it to you—and its still warm from his body heat, enveloping you like a physical touch. it smells like cologne, too; black tea and sandalwood, surprisingly warm, before there’s a little bite of musk. maybe leather, from the jacket.

you try to recover, “why are you giving me this?”

“because you’re cold.” he says dryly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“what is my friend gonna think when i walk in wearing your jacket?” you ask now, looking up at him through your lashes. he finally lets his hands fall from the lapels of it, standing there in front of you.

“that you asked for my jacket because you were cold.”

“i didn’t ask!” you huff and again, a flicker of a smile darts across his face; there and gone like a shooting star.

“that’s not how i remember it—you asked and pleaded for it because you were just so cold.” he says in that dry way he has. but his eyes are bright, dancing with amusement.

you push him away a little, and you hear what might be a huff of laughter, “i did not! do not go telling people that!”

“—and well, you always get what you want, don’t you?” he asks, “so i had to give you my jacket.”

“i don’t want your jacket!” you snap, even as you hold it around yourself, cling to its warmth.

he shrugs, apathetic again, “i don’t care what she thinks.” and then he says, “don’t stay out here too long.”

“i’ll do what i want.” you sniff, as he starts to turn away, back inside. you fist your hands on the inside of his jacket and pull it tighter to you, trying to drown yourself in the warmth that’s still lingering from him and—

you call out to him before he makes it to the door, “i thought you don’t like actors?”

and he looks over his shoulder, small smile a flash across his face, there and gone so quick you start to doubt you even caught it;

“i don’t.”

[sweetpupii]

oh, she does both and gets so mean with it too </3

thank god cait's uniform has pockets to hide the pink vibrator remote because she's planning on using it during the whole ceremony. yeah, yeah, guard the stage, look out for any suspicious people and whatever… she's far too focused on the way you fidget with the fabric of your uniform as you look around, squirming a little in a way that makes her look down to hold back a small giggle. not wanting to draw attention to herself.

sneaky little shit, got as far away from you as possible to not hear any complaints.

she just wasn't having it today. no amount of whining and puppy dog eyes you give could get her to back down. hopefully that'll teach you to stop getting on her last nerve at the most inopportune times.

keeping her in bed for longer than necessary because 'you were cold’ on a sunny and nowhere near cold morning, the little touches under her nightgown with those coy eyes that hid your true intentions ( or so you thought because she can read you like an open book by now. ), the gentle kisses and bites on her neck that quickly turned heated and ended up with a couple hickeys that were a pain to cover before arriving at the gala. late.

we're you dumb or did you really think she'd be nice enough to wait until you guys got to her bedroom to turn on the vibrator?

either way, you might regret agreeing to her little idea.

more people are starting to arrive but her duty is to be there and intervene only if something bad happens so she can keep having fun while you pat down people to let them in with a forced, polite smile. you shift on your feet, pretending to adjust the holster at your thigh. It’s an innocent enough motion to anyone watching, but caitlyn knows better.

her thumb grazes the remote in her pocket, toggling the setting up one notch higher. a quick glance in your direction tells her all she needs to know: the way your head dips slightly, teeth pressing into your bottom lip as your hand briefly grips the table for balance. you recover quickly, but not before her eyes catch the faint tremble in your legs.

perfect.

when she finally makes her way over to you, the calm authority in her tone betrays none of her mischief. “I’ll be taking her to assist with another entrance.” she tells the nearby guard, who barely spares a glance before nodding in approval.

her hand is warm and steady on your lower back as she leads you away, her grip firm enough to keep you from protesting. not that you could form a coherent argument right now, not with your mind clouded by the relentless buzzing and caitlyn’s touch.

she is not taking you to the other entrance, she's obviously taking you backstage to an empty room.

immediately closing the door, leaning her body weight against it just in case, pulling out the remote from her pocket to turn it up. the buzzing in between your legs now louder and definitely more overwhelming.

“fuck, cait, I'm sorry—” the quiver in your voice, the way you had to lean onto the desk behind you to hold yourself up while your knees trembled and threatened to give up made something flutter in caitlyn's belly, damn.

“sorry?” she repeats, her tone silky but laced with mockery. she holds up the remote in one hand, her thumb hovering over the button as if she was hesitating. “darling, you’re always sorry. but somehow, you never learn.”

she presses the button, and the buzzing between your legs ramps up another level, sharp and insistent. your breath catches, and your knees almost buckle at the sensation. “cait—caitlyn, please,” you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper, clear desperation.

“you had so much to say earlier this morning,” the enforcer pointed out with a soft laugh, taking a step closer. her free hand reaches out to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet her eyes. “is my name all you can manage to say now? how funny.”

your thighs clench together in a futile attempt to dull the vibration, but it only makes it worse. heat blooms in your cheeks, spreading down your neck, as you bite your lip to muffle the whimper threatening to escape. she notices—of course, she does—and leans in, her lips brushing against yours in a rather sloppy kiss.

she wasn't supposed to kiss you, she never does when trying to teach a lesson but she couldn't resist this time... sigh.

“no need to hold back,” she murmurs against your lips, “we’re alone here.”

“i can't...” you manage, your voice breaking. tears prick at the corners of your eyes as the overwhelming pleasure inside you.

“yes, you can,” she says firmly, one hand brushes along your side, a grounding touch that only makes the intensity more acute. “you always can.”

she watches you intently, taking in every shudder, every gasp, every tremble of your legs as you struggle to stay upright. her chest swells with satisfaction at the sight of you, undone and helpless under her control.

when your legs finally give out, she catches you effortlessly; pulling you close, stroking your back to let you pant against her shoulder, trailing soft kisses down your jaw as she presses the button to turn the vibrator off…only to start it back at the lowest setting.

“don't look at me like that,” caitlyn whispers, a tiny ( cruel. ) smile playing at her lips as she guides you down to the chair. “you already had your fun in the morning, am I not allowed to do the same?”

[patrywoso]

22. Ewa Pajor

+18 smut

Warnings: Spit kink. Strap-On. Fingering. Degradation/Humiliation. Praise kink. Choking. Collars 

As always thanks to @ljs-woso-vibez for being the best proofreader out there and to @footballfan118 and @ellieee45 for the help cause this fic wouldn't have been done without them.

You had a bad day today.

On your way home, you call Ewa to update her on your shitty day. She tells you to hurry if you can, an instruction you are all too happy to obey. When you get home, she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, with a blanket draped over her shoulders, waiting for you. She adjusts her legs to make room for you.

“Come here baby.”

You walk over to Ewa and sit down between her legs, facing forward. She wraps the blanket over you, shielding you both from the outside world. Before kissing a spot on your neck and nuzzling into it.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ewa asks after a moment.

You pause to gather your thoughts, and fidget with the hem of the blanket before answering. “I’m just feeling anxious about every little thing today... Like I can’t do anything right...” You look down and feel your chest flush, slightly ashamed for some reason.

“Oh, honey, that’s okay. It happens.” Ewa kisses the crook of your neck. “What can I do to help?”

“Hold me?”

You grab the blanket again to keep it closed over the both of you, and in turn, Ewa drops it. She wraps her arms around your waist, keeping you secure. You lean back into her and, for the first time since you left the house today, you start to relax. Already, you can feel your nerves settle in the safety of her arms. It comforts you to know that the only thing that can hurt you here is her, and she’ll only do it if you ask her first. Ewa starts kissing up and down your neck again. As she kisses a spot behind your ear, you let out the tiniest noise. Ewa trails her kisses down from that wonderful spot to your shoulder, your head tilting to give her more room.

“Ewa please...”

“Hmmm?” She asks without ever lifting her lips from your skin.

You don’t say anything, instead, grabbing her legs on each side of you, just above her knees. Showing that you need to steady yourself is a wordless way of telling her what else she can do if she wants to cheer you up. Ewa grazes your neck with her teeth, making you squirm and dig your fingers into her legs. It’s starting to get hot under the blanket. She knows, and holds you tighter with her left arm, using her right hand to reach up and massage your breasts through your shirt.

“Please...” you gasp as Ewa squeezes you and bites down on your neck at the same time. She grabs your neck with the hand that was on your chest and reaches in your pants with the other. She snaps the band of your underwear against your pelvis once before reaching in to rub your clit, tilting your chin up as she does.

You might be able to see her with your head like this if she wasn’t buried in the crook of your neck, kissing and biting over your shirt. You start to roll your hips under her touch, as your breathing speeds up and you close your eyes tight.

“Are you ready baby girl?”

“Yes!” You moan out and nod eagerly, not even knowing what you were agreeing to.

Then, she lays back flat on the bed and uses her hold on your throat to bring you down with her, you laid on top of her. Once you’re both settled, Ewa tells you to take your pants off. You lift your hips and get them down to your knees, before Ewa gets too impatient and slides 2 fingers inside you. You cry out and fist the blanket that’s below both of you. Ewa lifts the fingers around your neck enough to drag her tongue along the side in one big swipe, causing you to shudder around her. When she’s finished, she lifts that hand up completely and puts it down on your clit to rub it as she’s fucking you.

Rubbing your clit roughly, Ewa watches the way your body shakes underneath her, as her fingers thrusted in and out, getting faster and rougher.

Gripping the bed sheets underneath, you look up at Ewa, the look she has on her face, as if she had been hypnotised by your pussy.

“Harder, please, please harder” you moan as you feel your legs shake a little.

Ewa didn’t say anything in response, as she continue to hammer her fingers into your pussy. She took her hand off your clit and began to kiss it, her tongue licking and sucking your clit and you moaned loudly, her fingers knuckle deep inside of your pussy.

You could feel her tongue slowly licking your clit as her fingers fucked you harder, louder and louder moans leaving your mouth as your eyes slammed shut.

“Such a good girl” Ewa whispered as she went back to sucking your clit.

You squealed to yourself as you felt yourself become wetter and wetter from the different patterns, she began to lick and suck your clit. Joined with the constant fingers making your body shake from the force behind them, every time going knuckle deep inside of your pussy.

Your stomach began to rise at an unfamiliar rate as your breathing picked up getting quicker and quicker.

Ewa bites your earlobe and tugs on it when you shout out, “Oh god... Oh god, I’m almost there!”

“That’s it. Be a good girl and cum for me... It’s okay...” Her praise rebuilds your opinion of yourself, after a few little mistakes today broke you down. You look to the side and kiss her in appreciation. It’s a bit of a reach and the kiss isn’t the best, but when she moans into your mouth with excitement, you tip over the edge.

“I love you...” You moan into her mouth as the wetness coating her fingers starts to drip down to her knuckles.

Ewa kept the same steady pace through your orgasm and dipped her tongue into your mouth. She flicks your upper lip with the tip of her tongue when she brings her hands back up to your body. She moves you so that you’re lying next to each other. You kick your pants off and turn to face her. She kisses your nose with a smile and says, “I love you too, baby girl.” A moment passes with you staring into her caring eyes in awe.

“Are you feeling better now?”

You shake your head and straddle her hips. What she just did was plenty nice, but after a long day of feeling like you can’t do anything right, you need her to boss you around to make you feel competent again. But you know that you must ask nicely first.

“Daddy” You grab her hands and put them on your thighs.

“Yes, honey?”

You take your shirt off, leaving you in just a bra. “Will you play with me?”

Ewa raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure baby? If your day was already rough, I don’t want to push you too far.” She sits up on one elbow and runs her thumb back and forth over a spot on your hip while she talks. It feels nice, but you take that hand and bring it up to your sternum to see what she would do. 

“Yes, daddy, I’m sure. Please. Make my day better and fuck me.”

Ewa slides the hand you put on your chest to your neck and sets it there, only squeezing down when you groan. Ewa smiles because she knows you well enough to know why and readjusts her hold on your neck so she can run her thumb along your cheek. You turn your head to take her thumb in your mouth, flattening your tongue against the pad and groaning around it. You put your hands on her stomach and start to grind into her lap, dropping her thump and setting your lips.

“Don’t hold back.”

And just like that, Ewa’s look changes from concerned to downright evil, and she’s helping you grind into her by pulling down on your hips. You ride her for a moment, and start to feel another orgasm build-up, so you close your eyes tight to try and chase it down before she stops you.

You should know better.

Ewa digs her nails into your hips as a way of telling you to proceed with caution, but when you throw your head back in response, she slaps your ass and forces you off with a growl. You look at her with wide eyes, wondering why she did that as she stands up and starts to undress. You lean forward on your knees and nibble on your bottom lip, thinking about all the new opportunities that just became available.

“Don’t even think about it.” Ewa cuts off your train of thought and you let out a whimper in response.

Once all her clothes are on the ground she starts to dig around in the nightstand. She pulls out a strap-on and fastens it on. You’re staring at her wide-eyed and your breath hitches when you see her take out your collar next. She opens it and holds it down below the toy so that if you were eye level with it, your neck would fall into place on the leather. By this point, you’re practically drooling in anticipation.

“Come over here and get this toy wet before I fuck you with it, slut.”

Ewa stands beside the bed, and you crawl towards her on all fours, dipping your head down as she guides the collar into place around your neck. She clasps it and you try to proceed before she tells you to stop. You look up and she has a mischievous look on her face when she says, “Here, let me help you.”

She takes your jaw in her hand and brings your face up to hers, squeezing your cheeks with her fingers.

“Open.”

You figure out what she’s going to do immediately, and open your mouth, making sure to stick your tongue out too. The second it’s all the way out, she leans over you and spits in your mouth. She shoves your head back down towards the toy and you make a surprised noise at the use of force, careful to keep your mouth closed. When you’re back on all fours in front of the toy, you open your mouth and run your tongue along the entire length of the silicone. You can smell her, and it makes you even more eager to please.

With her hands on your head, Ewa watches you coat the toy, she lets you just use your tongue to do that. Even when she’s in mean mode for you like she is now, she still never makes you take the entire thing in your mouth. The same cannot be said for other places, and you’re reminded of that as she pulls your head back from the toy. She pushes your shoulders as you sit up, so you fall onto your back. You lay there trying to register what just happened, and she uses that opportunity to put a dab of lube on the toy before grabbing your ankles and pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. When your hips meet, you squeal with excitement and it turns into a gasp as she points the toy to your clit, swaying her hips the tiniest bit forward to put pressure on it.

She parts your lips with the toy and uses it to spread the mix of your saliva and the lube between them and after what feels like forever, she finally lines the toy up with your entrance, but she doesn’t push in just yet. Instead, she leans down to kiss you, she takes your bottom lip between her teeth and drags her tongue over it in apology, and you gasp into her mouth. Her kisses are so rough, you can tell she’s just as eager as you are, Ewa just wants to tease you for as long as she can handle it first. The thought of her being unable to contain her excitement makes you so impatient that your legs start to close on their own around her to try and create some friction. She responds to that by standing up straight and forcing your legs back down onto the bed.

You lift your hips as much as her hold on you will allow in a silent plea. Ewa answers it by pushing the toy in, going at a painfully slow pace until it’s completely buried inside of you. She gives you a moment to adjust to the stretch before moving her hips at a steady pace. Once the tiny noises that have been flooding out of you start to get louder, she increases the speed. Only bending over a little bit, she loops a finger into the collar and tugs, looking over your body while maintaining the quick pace. Your mouth drops open as you lose your fight to keep down screams.

“You look so good like this. Getting fucked so hard you can’t keep that whore mouth of yours closed.” Ewa pinched a nipple between two fingers to accentuate her point.

You moaned at the rough treatment and cried out, “I’m only a whore for you daddy! I don’t want anybody else but you…”

“Just me?”

You nod so fast your head might fall off, making her laugh. “Yes daddy.”

It’s true. Your mind spent all day chasing itself around in circles, making you sick, and it only took Ewa a matter of minutes to make it stop. It feels like bliss when she pushes all the negative thoughts out of your head with touches and some mean words. It’s not your fault that all you can think about is her right now, especially when she lets go of your collar to give the same treatment to your clit that she’s giving your pussy.

“Ah!” You shout at the touch.

“Are you going to cum already slut?”

“Yes daddy, please don’t stop, I’ll do whatever you say!” You beg.

Ewa dips her tongue under the collar and whispers next to your ear, “You'll do that anyways baby.” You squirm. “Go ahead.” She kisses your cheek and says, “You can hold onto me if you need to.”

Ewa stays close to you so you can wrap your arms around her back and practically hang off her. You finally tip over the edge and squeeze around the toy when she bites the area she had just kissed. Your nails dig into her back and your legs wrap around hers, pulling her closer and the toy deeper inside you. You cum with just a gasp and she doesn’t still her hips until yours drop back down into the bed. You hadn’t even realized that you lifted them up so high until they fell. Her hips don’t follow yours, allowing you to slide off the toy at your own pace, then, she uses your hold on her to scoot you both a little farther up the bed. Ewa shifts her weight so that you’re laying beside each other like you were before you begged her for round two. Not that either one of you was complaining. Even after the workout she just gave you, you get a little burst of energy when you think of a way to repay her.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, baby?”

You blush and start peppering her chest with desperate kisses, so you don’t have to look at her in the eyes as you ask her to take the strap off. Ewa chuckles at how prude you suddenly became after she fucked you, but does what you ask, tossing it to the floor with a thud. You hum with approval and latch onto her, sucking just beside her nipple, only giving it attention once you were satisfied with the mark you left on her. Her legs shift to make room for your hand, but you still ask for permission. “May I touch you daddy?”

“Yes honey,” she says, and holds the back of your head as you resume kissing and biting across her chest.

You bring two fingers to her clit and start to rub featherlight circles over it. Ewa tries to suppress the noises that sneak out of her to keep up the persona you asked for when you asked her to play with you. 

You look up at her from between her bruised tits with puppy dog eyes and think about the things that she’d like to hear.

“Thank you, daddy. You’re the only one that can make me feel like that.” Your fingers press into her clit and start to speed up with each word. “Will you cum on my fingers? I just want to be a good little slut for you and make you feel good too. Pretty please, daddy...”

Ewa is already tightly wound from fucking you into the mattress, so it only takes a few more strokes before she’s holding you by your collar and yelling your name. You help her ride through the final waves of her orgasm before she tells you to stop. You run your hands up her stomach and she pulls your head up to lay on her chest, on its side so you can’t start teasing her again.

You hum at the touch, and she asks, “What did I do to deserve such a good girl?”

You blush and wrap around her, feeling your body rise and down with every breath she takes. As you lay there, you can’t help but smile at how small she makes all your problems feel when you’re together.

The smile stays in place as you drift asleep on top of her.

[pricegouge]

Eirēnē

price x reader one shot

cw: femme, soldier reader. implied fit body type. pegging. slight spit kink. mild angst but a happy ending. MDNI

"Oh, big stretch." It's playfully patronizing; an affected air to hide the undercurrent of genuine pride. John's always liked watching you push your limits, but raw affection has no place here in his bed - always kept carefully at bay, dropped with his tac gear by the door, or maybe even further back, in the field, when he ducked his helmet against yours with a quiet 'well done, love,' barely audible over the din of exfil, ripped away in the impending whorl of hele blades. 

He praises you here as well, but never as an equal. You're a plaything when he's got you pinned under him. He toys with you the way you imagine he's toyed with cute little things all his life. John doesn't strike you as a bully by any means, but you've seen first hand how he can turn a compliment into a debasement by simply dropping his pitch a few octaves. It leaves you unmoored, dragged in and out of your arousal by self-conscious turns which he soothes with sweet kisses and gentle touches.

They sting worse than the words.

He's got his thumb against the seam of you now, pushing at the tender skin where it is indeed stretched wide around his cock. He's overconfident when he mouths off about how good it must feel, but his eyes betray him as they always do: reverent, tender, yes. And envious.

It took you months to see it. As a rule, by the time he got like this, you were already too fucked out to notice. You fear you never would have, had this slippery slope you'd both found yourselves on not started declining further by the day. You might slip more often, but he's bigger. Falls harder.

It's the vulnerability that tips you off. 

'You're only ever satisfied when you're taking my cock, aren't you darlin'?' it began, a mocking smirk pressed against your lips as you pouted about being given nothing but his fingers. 'That feel good, love?' he'd ask, palm grinding into your sex as he fucked you shallowly, watching himself disappear within your body. Then 'tell me how good I make you feel,' turned into, 'tell me how good it feels,' while 'need me to fix it?' became, 'fuck, sweetheart, please.'

Now you watch him back, entranced by the way he cannot look away from where your bodies meet. It's early yet. He has all his faculties. Still, his gaze is anchored to the stretch of your cunt. "You could cum like this, couldn't you?" he asks, thumb tracing up to your clit. "So full I don't even have to work for it. Just stuff you up and press this button, eh?"

You nod but he's not looking. His thumb pushes against you cruelly as punishment for your perceived silence. "Yes," you hiss and he hums, eyes bright with mischief.

"Show me, then," he says casually, rocking himself that final centimeter deeper as he starts playing with your clit exactly the way you like it. You bear it in stillness and silence for as long as you can, but the quiet sigh he eventually earns himself is like a floodgate. Once your mouth is open, jaw relaxed, your soft noises continue, and then your hips are canting just enough to work against his rhythm. You don't last long enough to test your theory that night, not when John stays as buried deep as he can get, rocking shallowly into you just so he can feel the head of his cock drag under his palm where he keeps it pressed into the soft flesh of your belly. It's vulnerable, makes you feel field dressed, gralloched. 

His own tummy jumps when you palm him there in turn, his cock twitching within you as he groans like he's been gutshot, falls limp over you just the same.

You find out days later that you can make him a desperate, gasping mess by just leaving teeth marks there, working him in your fist while you hide your bite among the soft hair of his underbelly, the most defenseless part of him - too low for his vest to cover; mobility at the cost of exposure. But he trusts you here, holds you close after the first few flutters of his panic settle. His cum stripes your chin when your free hand palms his heavy sac, one finger settling lower, along the seam of him. 

John does not ask you. You wonder sometimes if it would be a bridge too far, playing into the role more than he is comfortable with. Then, John being comfortable with any of this is a stretch, as evident in the tension of his brow when you finally get him on his back, the sweat pooling in the hollow of his throat when you work your second finger in alongside the first. You think it's more than he can take, but he outright whimpers when you go to pull back and you can't help but laugh when he wraps a strong leg around your waist to hold you close, his voice like gravel in a cement mixer when he chokes out a quiet, 'don't you dare.'

Don't laugh, don't stop - you're unsure so do neither as you settle yourself deeper within him, fingers probing, just exploring. Taking your time.

The toy he'd bought you - ostensibly - is bigger than he is. Will sit deep within him, proportionate to how he fits inside you. You're not worried it will please him, but it's hard not to be at least a little jealous of his big hands when your fingers can't reach deep enough to do anything but press fluttery pulses against his prostate, only make him tense and sweat when you want to make him cry and beg. It's an instinct that grows with each passing minute, John's impatience - and ability to articulate it - damn near hurting your pride.

He wants to be made vulnerable, has entrusted you alone with the task, though you can do little more than tease him on your own.

But you've always been resourceful. Learned from the best.

When you do pull away, John's hole tightens around your fingers so hard you imagine you would be unable to escape if not for the copious amounts of lube you'd used while working him open. He doesn't pout the way you would have, his frustration instead leaving him with a strangely bull-like huff. You shush him anyway, soothing the emptiness with two thumbs quickly hooking into his rim, testing his stretch with a quiet, disapproving hum.

"I don't know, cap. Don't think you're ready for this cock."

John's neck flexes when he tilts his head back, the thick cords on full display when he swallows heavily, jumping past the strain in his throat. "Oh, fuck you."

"Not tonight," you counter absently, sinking your thumbs to the knuckle just to watch his hole try to wink around them. When you remove them completely, you drag slick trails of lube through the coarse hair there. "It's these little fingers of mine," you pout, wiggling them at him illustratively. "Not gonna cut it, I fear. Be a doll and open yourself up for me, hm?"

He looks like he has something to say to that, but it gets caught behind his teeth and to your surprise he only rolls, gets his knees up under his hips so he can kneel before you, brace most of his weight on his left hand which he plants firmly on the bed. You don't comment on the practiced ease with which he reaches back and coats his fingers in the sticky lube which drips from his hole, nor the way his breath catches when his fingers do. Whatever this is, this practiced confidence, this was never intended for you and you're loathe to have taken it from him.

You're more loathe he's kept it from you at all, but you stay just as silent as him.

John works efficiently, doesn't even take enough time to let the pleasure build. You think about guiding his hands but falter, too scared to take too much control. Instead you keep his cheeks spread for him, warm extra slick between your fingers before letting it slip from your grip, watch as it slips into his greedy hole. You want to tell him how good he looks, but you don't want to embarrass him, either, and your words die in your throat, dry and brittle, because John is not usually so quiet as this during sex and if he needs the silence, you will not be the one to break it.

He doesn't speak when he's decided he's stretched enough, either. Simply lays down on his belly with his legs stretched out between your own. You hum appreciatively, chance to ask if he's ready for you with a quick, assessing swipe of your finger across his loosened rim. With the muscle lax and unfurled, your digit catches and tugs, draws a low, startled grunt from him before he clears his throat and nods, voice thick when he says he is.

You remember the way his stomach tensed under your palm, the way he cradles the back of your head when you get his balls in your mouth, pressing the ring of your teeth closer. John does not ask for this, at least not verbally, but you know what he wants. John's never led you astray before, and he doesn't now, so long as you know what to look for. He does not want to be responsible for this, to tell you when he's ready. The added tension of it, your expectation that he make a decision at the one time he wasn't expecting to, it collects tangibly in the iron of his spine, the clench of your jaw. In the silence of the room, you hear the spiderweb break of the fragile gift he's given you and you still, coltish legs on too-thin ice. Misguided. Not a concept you've had to worry about since coming under John's captaincy. You've grown lax

"Tell me how good it feels."

And maybe it's okay that you've let him crumble, just a bit, because he shatters beautifully when he knows you'll keep him together.

John's voice is still tight when the head of your cock catches on his rim, the words pulled from him like tangled fishing line, each confession pulling clotted debris from the silt of his vitals. It's good, a stretch, he's full.

You can't help the cruel laugh that builds at that last, flex your hips down into his to sink incrementally deeper. "Not yet, you're not."

The quiet snarl is the only warning you get, John's palm reaching back to wrap around your hip with the same quick reflexes that have kept him whole so long. He rips back whatever control he's ceded with just as much ease as he pulls you into him, a rough grunt the only indication he gives of any potential discomfort from the sudden intrusion. Still, you lean against him heavily so he can't move you manually again, create a rhythm for himself that you haven't authorized. You don't let the doubt overcome you, know this is no less than the last desperate gasps of any bound animal. 

You settle him just the same, warm hands on his flank and soft reassurances, your low murmur spilled across his shoulder because he's far too tall for you to lean over properly. "Easy, baby. Give yourself a minute to adjust."

A dog that's slipped his muzzle, John still shows his teeth. "I can take it."

"Don't care what you can do," you counter, bearing more weight down on his back as you slip your free hand under his thick chest - a poor approximation of the way he effortlessly comforts you in this position, the tenderness he doesn't even mean to give. "Just care about what you want to do."

Though he remains unsettled, John's voice is less clipped now despite his words. "I want you to move."

Impertinence sits on your tongue - begging for it already? - but you know better than to test his patience when he's already got himself so wound up over nothing. He's a man unused to this position, figuratively and literally, and you take pity on the perceived bruising of his ego, even if it is self-inflicted. "I'll take care of you," you promise instead, and have to bite back the swell of pride in your chest when the tension of his back slackens incrementally.

"Know you will, love."

The first slow pump of your hips is shallow, experimental, your body acquainting itself with this new movement. John offers no encouragement, but you take his lack of objection for it anyway and gain confidence with each thrust, your strokes growing longer as you learn how to properly brace your weight. 

The harness you've chosen rests low on your hips, the base of your cock digging into your mons each time you bottom out within him. It's a low simmer of pleasure, not distracting enough to keep you from your main aim, but enough to get your hips snapping slightly into him, a rhythm you double down on when John's breath stilts and he shifts subtly, bracing himself to ensure your movements are well met. It's unnecessary - his bulk far too much for you to move with so little engagement - but appreciated all the more because of it.

"Feel good, John? You like having me so deep inside you?"

When he looks over his shoulder, you can see the pinpricks of sweat collecting on his temple. "Let you know when you fuck me proper."

You laugh catches in your throat, more a startled breath than true amusement. "Cheeky," you grumble, then shift up onto your knees and brace your feet over the backs of his calves, using your too-wide stance to your advantage when it means you can't hold your weight on your own. You sink further into the clutch of him, the base of your toy flush tight to his rim, and John swallows thickly, throat flexing. 

The angle is difficult to work but worth it, the way John's head hangs limp between his shoulders the only encouragement you need to plant your hands on the back of his tight waist and feel the way his abdomen flexes each time you let your weight drop back into him. You keep a steady pace even when he tries arching back up under you, inviting you deeper without speaking.

He didn't ask, but you knew.

You don't give him what he wants until he's biting back moans, his voice so low and shot you'd mistake them for the traffic outside if not for how acutely attuned you are to him, your pace quickening just to chase the harefooted pulse in his neck higher. 

When he bites your name out through clenched teeth, his breath condensing in the hairs of his forearm, you tell him to beg. 

"Shit… fuck." You see the muscles of his back bunch when he plants his hands under his shoulders, the tension in his spine when he debates bucking you off of him. And then you plant your feet under yourself, sacrifice depth for power on your next thrust and he whimpers, dropping back to the mattress with a reedy whine. 

You give him a few more, exact copies - the movement already imprinted on your mind like a ballroom basic (Quick learner. Lethal. Brutal. You'd read his reports on you) - and peter off you hear him choke off the next thin groan. 

"If you're not gonna beg for me, at least let me hear those pretty sounds." To prove your point, you grind in hard against him, hips angled to hit that spot that had earned you a whine to begin with. You chuckle when it works again, voice dripping with a cruelty you didn't know you were capable of when it came to your captain. "I've earned 'em, haven't I?"

Another noise bubbles in his throat, pops with a breathy huff. You slip away from him, snap back, and revel in the clench of his thick fist against the sheets. "Fuuuuck. Yeah, love. Just like that. Alright. You've earned it."

He's a veritable font after that, tongue loose and spilling every thought. You feel carbonated, fizzy and staticky, listening to each noise and bitten off praise tumble past his lips. You want to kiss him, get frustrated when you can't reach him. The hand around the column of his throat to arch him backwards surprises both of you, kiss forgotten as you pant against his lips, your glutes burning as you try to maintain your pace. Silent now, John's throat can do little more than flex weakly under your palm as his jaw works, swallowing the spit you want to drink from him. You can't help a whine of your own when the harness grinds too low, too hard, and you bunt your forehead against his cheek, spine sagging just slightly.

"'S'it good, love?"

He doesn't even sound like your captain anymore, voice too quiet, vulnerable. Sinking for a moment into that soft space with him. But when you open your eyes and see his own looking back at you, expectant and eager, you steel yourself again, lips feather light against his ear.

"So good, baby. Taking me so fucking well. Look pretty like this, John," you admit, rambling on over the whine it incites. "Should get you under me more often, hm? Let you take this cock the way I know you want?" He slinks back to the bed when you let him, your palm petting heavily along his spine as he slips away from you. He doesn't try to muffle his noises in the pillow this time, breaths heavy and high as you build your rhythm back up, ignoring the way the harness slips against your sweaty skin. 

With your hands braced against his waist again, it's easy to watch the stretch of his hole where he accepts you so greedily. Even now it glistens in the low light, hair matted with the generous amount of lube you'd plied him with. Your cock is skin-toned, natural, glistening as if with slick when you work it free of him. You make it as loud as you can manage when you spit on him, delighting in the way his hole winks around the tapered head of your cock when he flinches in embarrassment, making it worse by taking the base in hand and slapping the head against the wet of it until he can't take it anymore, reaching back to try and grab your hip again. 

You're ready for him this time, slap his hand away easily, an odd contrast to the way you coo filth at him, call him greedy and just to watch his hole clench down again, a futile attempt to keep you out. When you spit on him this time, a half-hearted bid to ensure he could still take you despite his tension, he groans unabashedly and flops back down, boneless.

"Whore," you chide, and slip back to the base in one steady move, filing the way your gamble makes him keen for later.

Despite his submission, rigidity coils low in John's spine as you work yourself deeper, the muscles under your hand pulling taut as he accepts you. It pools in your own as well, a baseline pleasure you've done all you can to ignore. Your thumbs trace his ilium, feel the tightness of his fascia. One palm pulls the meat of his cheek away to bare his hole to you and then that same thumb slips lower, past the seam of him, and presses softly against his rim. 

You accuse him of being greedy and bite back a smile as John accepts this new intrusion with a slack-jawed moan, drool pooling on the pillow beneath him. You tell him he's being so good for you when your first knuckle slips past his slack hole, but you don't think it even registers, given the fucked out look on his face, the tight pinch of pleasure between his brows. You keep praising him anyway as you begin to fuck him again, your words a low undertone to the high pitched grunts he emits each time you slam home. With your hook him, John can't help but work his hips against yours, aborted little thrusts which you allow because there's not much you can do to stop him, not when he's so far past listening and you're no match for the powerful contraction of his thick thighs. It's a struggle to stay atop him but you manage, pushing him back down as much as you're able with your palms planted on his flexing glutes. To his credit, he regains some sentience when his cock receives sufficient stimulation, tucking his arms up under his chest to better work down against the mattress, slurring vague encouragement through spit-slick lips.

"C'mon, sweetheart, give it to me, please - fuck."

"Need more?" you ask, unsure how you could even give him what he needs when you're on the verge of collapse, untested musculature flagging by the minute.

"Just like that. Shit -!"

He cuts off with a cry when your second thumb slips lower, prods threateningly at the tight ring of muscle you've already worked too loose. "Big stretch," you warn, but make it no further than your nailbed before he's cumming with bitten off shout, hips stuttering as if he can't decide if he wants to fuck down into the mattress or back onto you more. You take the choice from him, bearing down with enough force to work your mound against the base of the harness, taking the edge off your own pleasure with deep grinds that have John babbling beneath you.

In the silence that follows, you slip free of him gently, massaging his glutes as you lay your toy between them, just listening to his breathing even out. For a moment you think it won't, and you slink down to lay across his back again, chest pressed to the lax muscles there to give him the same kind of grounding weight you love so much from him. John just reaches back to sink lazy fingers along your scalp, though, a satisfied hum leaving him when you tip off him sideways to spoon up next to him. Between you, your cock bobs ungainly, an unwelcome intrusion that keeps you from clinging to him. He laughs when you huff in frustration, watches you with one eye open as you fiddle with the clasps until you're free. He's good enough to roll onto his side when you lay back down, welcoming you into his chest with a warmth you're not used to seeing post-coitus, and despite the easiness of his hold on you, it puts you on your back foot, sends you spiraling back into reality - to your place behind him in the field, never his equal. 

He mistakes your stiffness for dissatisfaction at first, his palm sliding down your front unprompted despite his obvious exhaustion, his whole body wrung out and relaxed. It fills you with pride that you were able to do that for him, but it's a sour sort of pride, a noxious gas which bubbles within you, has you pushing his hand away before he's even grazed the thatch of hair above your sex. John grumbles, peeks down past his nose to look you over. His free hand finds the nape of your neck when you avoid him, tilts your face for his inspection.

When he asks if you're broken, your throat constricts, the words like a mallet knocking your panic loose. Your voice falters, stuttering past a protest which you can't quite form. John frowns down at you and that insufferable feeling of disappointment, of having let him down yawns beneath your feet, your axis tilting you over the edge -.

"What's wrong, love?"

It's too quiet to be the voice he uses in the field, too soft to be that patronizing tone he adopts when he's got you underneath him. Closer to the quiet murmur he imparts on you when he drags you close before exfil, those secret words meant just for you, his softest soldier who needs the gentle touch. You shake your head, not trusting your voice, but he's not having it, dragging you closer so you've no choice but to hitch your leg up over his thigh, expose yourself to him fully.

"Can't fix it if you don't tell me," he reminds you, and even that aches - the knowledge he'd trusted you with all this, and he still has to keep you together. 

"It's nothing," you assert, desperate to let him enjoy his come down. "I'm just being silly."

John just squints at you, testing. When he moves your hips down against his own, he tracks the slight flinch in your expression with open interest. "Doesn't seem so silly, lovie."

You still his hands, ask him to stop with regret tinging your voice. "I'm sorry, it's just -. I just -."

"You what, sweetheart?"

"Oh, don't call me that," you blubber, floodgates opening despite your best effort. 

To his credit, John seems to take it in stride, pulling you into his chest and tucking you under his chin. His hands are heavy and warm on your back where they soothe along your spine. "Okay, no sweetheart. How 'bout lovie? Or honey? Or -?"

"John," you whine, pushing yourself away from him with a firm hand on his chest. "I can't take it anymore! You're so… so…"

"So what?"

"So sweet! And it hurts too much, knowing I can't keep it, and -."

"Can't keep it?" he mutters, but you're too wound up to listen, rattling on about not know what this is, spilling your heart out about how you keep blurring the lines. 

John silences you with a kiss, far too slow and sweet to have been listening to a single one of your concerns. When he pulls away he doesn't let you go far, keeping you in the tight ring of his embrace so he can pepper bittersweet kisses across your cheeks. "You were being silly, weren't you, love?" he starts, and chuckles meanly when you swat at him, trying to squirm away. "Easy. Listen to me, sweetheart, okay? It's important." He waits patiently for you to settle, heat boiling under your collar as you meet his eyes. "Do you think I'd have let you do all that if this were just casual? Hm?"

Clarity swells in you like ocean tide, briny and bitter where it creeps up your throat. You open your mouth to answer but close it just as fast, afraid of what might come spilling out. 

"Just casual," John scoffs, pulling you closer and saving you from further embarrassment when he tucks you back under his chin. "If I find out you've been casual with any of the other lads I'm going to be quite cross."

You want to tell him it would be his own fault, or lie just to teach him a lesson. Mostly, you want to be offended. Instead you just shake your head adamantly, lips dragging across the coarse hair of his chest. 

"Good girl," he rumbles, and must feel the clench of your cunt against his hip because his hand drags down to your rear, pulls you impossibly closer. "Now, let's drive those nasty thoughts out of your head, shall we?"

[ottpopfic]

Leo’s husband is pissed

Not at him, Jason very rarely gets this pissed at family. The last time he was this pissed at someone in their inner circle was when he heard that the reason Will and Nico were not going to keep their now goddaughter was because they were not sure they could give her the time and attention she deserved on their own. The tongue-lashing Jason gave Nico had been brutal, reminding him that he and Leo and the entire Way Station had been with them about her since the beginning. But it had been alright in the end, Katie has been with them for two years at this point and is thriving

And nothing can get Jason this mad like something related to their kid. It's not so much Katie this time, though she was the original catalyst, this time it is New Rome and the Senate digging in their heels about setting an age limit to join the Legion. Or more the extraction and rehoming of multiple children, finding it easier to do nothing than do right by a bunch of preteens and grade schoolers

“It really is horse shit” Leo agrees around his toothbrush, watching his husband pace in an angry circle through the bathroom door as he rants half in Wolf Speak

“And then, and then” Jason continues on “Lucius had the gall of saying it should be fine because I turned out fine” The blond then does a series of growls and postures that Leo knows is some very intense profanity directed at the Senate and there parentage or lack thereof

“And what did you say?” Leo asks as he does his rinse and spit

“I told him where he could shove that notion with his-” Then Jason is lapsing back into Wolf again with a big angry sneeze snort and his shoulders up by his ears, his prowling of the rug gaining a heavier footfall, recanting to Leo exactly what he thinks of that assessment

Leo snorts a laugh as he hits the light switch for the bathroom “Did you say it exactly like that or were you more Praitor?”

“I was a professional, unfortunately”

“I'm glad we Greeks are way easier,” Leo sympathizes, making his way past his husband to sit on their bed “All you gotta do is win both the screaming match and the following fistfight and everything is fine and done with”

“That's because Camp Half-Blood doesn't play politics,” Jason laments, frustration in his every tone “With Conner’s program it feels like everyone is only focused on the kids, there's no - no ego involved”

“Rome is kinda known for ego Superman,” Leo says, trying to redirect the spiral “Didn't they stab a whole dude about it”

Jason gives a posture and look that tells Leo not to even start on purposeful historical inaccuracies because he's not in the mood for that type of banter, fair enough

“I'm just saying” Leo presses on, laying down on his husband’s pillow, “I think you need to get a knife in there, or gladiatorial rings? Is that still an option? Can you fight it out?”

“Not anymore” Jason growls in frustration and then starts doing another lap of the rug, snorting out another series of colorful curse words in Wolf

“Do you want to take it out on me?”

Jason freezes in his tracks, head whipping around to stare at Leo with his nostrils flared. Leo just smiles all teeth and stretches as enticingly as he can with his arms over his head. He knows how Jason likes him, something about the bend that has his husband's eyes tracking with that sharpness Leo loves. He lets his back leave the bed a little, hips canting and tilting his chin just so. He knows exactly what he's saying with his body, he's gotten good at speaking his man’s first language after all these years

Leo gets rewarded for his display with a still steaming blond all up in his space. A frankly huge hand is sliding under the arch of the small of his back, palm flush to his spine and lifting him close to his husband's middle until Leo’s hips are in the air. Jason holds his body up over him on his forearm, his bright blue eyes scanning his face as he settles in between his legs. Leo bites his lip to keep from giggling and quirks his eyebrows in challenge, hooking his legs over his man’s waist

“I'm gonna make you catch fire” Jason hisses, hell yeah “I'm gonna make you fucking cry”

“Is that a threat Mr.Valdez” Leo teases, making sure his grin is showing his teeth

The scar on his lip pulls as Jason flashes a canine “It's a promise” and then he is on Leo like he has something to prove

[engiebabey]

Sending in another ask bc I love ur writing style!!

I yearn for a babysitter scout

Anything you wanna do for him is fine!

:3

doing some hcs! i divided it into three parts bc i think he acts differently with different age groups of littles

warnings: talks of crying/tantrums, one mention of death, one mention of fighting, use of "big brother"

(0-2) babyspace

literally the definition of "fake it till you make it", since scout's usually the youngest of whatever group he's in (whether that be the mercs or his family), he's never had to take care of a baby before

holds you pretty awkwardly but surprisingly safe because he's scared of dropping you

will try to talk to you and expect answers until he remembers you're a baby

"so, uh, what kinda games you wanna play?" "ah?" "oh, yeah, nevermind."

gives you random objects to teeth/drool on like clean socks and spoons from the kitchen

usually doesn't like to ask for help, but if you wear diaps, he will 100% go to spy or engie and hold you up like a wet little cat and ask "help how do i change this thing"

weirdly likes making bottles. thinks it's relaxing to fill it up and feed you

favorite thing is to make you laugh. he'll do the thingy wear he tears paper to make you squeal and giggle. hearing you laugh makes him laugh

literally the only time scout has any patience is when he's taking care of you

tries putting you down for a nap and ends up sleeping with you because he doesn't want to leave you

good at calming you down when you cry

"shh, kid, it's okay, big brother's right here"

(3-4) toddlers

he enjoys that you're able to talk with him because all he does is talk

will tell you jokes and you usually don't get the punchline because it's something tom jones or death related

eats your snacks with you. like straight up steals handfuls of cheerios and yogurt bites off your table, he thinks they're delicious

tries to sneak bonk! into your sippy cup and gets yelled at by the other mercs later when you won't take a nap

tries to pay attention to you but always gets distracted, loses you very easily. by the time scout turns around, you're halfway down the other side of the hallway

makes a very poor attempt to teach you baseball, but it usually just devolves into a clumsy game of catch instead

if you won't eat, he either does "here comes the airplane!" or pretends to eat your food to make you jealous

calls his mom when you won't behave, "hey ma, how did ya deal with me when i was a kid?"

thinks it's hilarious to tickle you, will bring out the tickle monster

has a hard time trying to deal with tantrums, usually tries the distraction method of presenting toys to you. if you're really sobbing, he'll wait it out because he doesn't want to upset you further

(5+) kiddos

he's weirdly a lot more chill the older you are in regression, he feels he needs to have rules and guidelines for the littles, but if you're more of a kid, then he is laidback

huge arts and crafts kinda guy, since he likes doodling himself, it's very easy for the two of you to spend an afternoon just scribbling and coloring

you will probably spend more time outside than inside, tbh. he'll bring out balls and chalk and bubbles, anything you want to keep you entertained

will come up with a secret handshake with you (that both of you will forget within the hour and make up a new one)

so many cartoons. he likes watching them anyways so it's a no-brainer for babysitting

if you play with dolls, scout will make them fight each other

loves loves loves games, from hide and seek to the floor is lava to even just counting, he will make everything into a competition

he'll let you win on purpose though because it makes him happy to see you happy

"i can't believe you beat me again, toots! you gotta give your big brother a chance next time, yeah?"

will let you give him a makeover! if you have makeup, he'll use it, but usually it's just acrylic paint or washable markers because no one else at the base owns makeup

lets you stay up way past your bedtime, especially when it's movie night

holds dance parties in the common area oh yeah !!! they typically end up in scout trying to dance battle

banner by me :)

[suzukiblu]

Thank-you sentences for Kris behind the cut; I was offered dealer's choice and picked “mirror mirror”. relevant tags: clonecest, gender play, roleplay, daddy kink (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Fuck, you’re so into this,” he breathes raggedly as he plasters himself down against the other’s back, a little too come-stupid to hold back the break in character, and Match– 

Match– 

Match bites his lip, and keeps his hips tilted up just perfectly for the deepest possible place Kon can get inside him; keeps himself up on the balls of his feet. Kon pictures him in heels. It is very fucking distracting, as a picture, and not in a helpful way. 

“Yeah,” Match mumbles, barely audible, and Kon just about burns alive even before he gets to, “You're my favorite, Daddy.” 

Kon really, really regrets the fact he just came. Even half-Kryptonian stamina isn’t gonna let him keep fucking the bastard right now. 

Though if they’re talking superpowers in sex, well–his TTK really never has let him down. 

Kon wraps his TTK around his dick–concentrates it around his dick, more like–and keeps it a hard and thick pressure inside Match, even as his actual cock tries to soften underneath it. Match makes another hitched little noise, and Kon nuzzles the back of his neck a little clumsily, trying to just–focus. Just get himself back into being Match’s “daddy”, at least for now. 

Or being his special little princess’s daddy. Just, like, however his dick wants to phrase that right now. 

“Please,” Match says, his voice flickering a little hesitant, and Kon drops a soft little kiss behind his ear and slides his hands up his sides; keeps his TTK-wrapped dick deep inside him, even if fucking him with it would probably fucking hurt at this point. It’d be worth it, definitely. 

“You don’t have to ask, sweetheart,” he manages, and mostly gets himself under control. “Already told you I'd let you come on my cock as many times as you wanted, didn't I? Let you keep him warm all night? Let you be the pretty little whore you love being as long as you wanna.” 

Match whimpers. Kon strokes his hands heavier back down his sides and presses down tighter against his back and gets him squirming under them; under him. His dick’s too oversensitive for the way Match clutches up around it, even with his TTK in the way, but he doesn't give a fuck. 

He wonders, suddenly, if that’s part of why Match keeps fucking leaving him so fucking quick. If he can’t–what, goddamn justify sticking around if he’s not getting off for it. 

They’ve got the same powers, after all. The same stamina. And Kon really doesn’t usually need or want to go as many rounds as they always seem to end up going. Really does wish Match would just, like–fucking stay and talk to him a little more often. Or just literally fucking ever, even. 

He doesn’t really know how he feels about the fact he’s regularly fucking somebody who won’t even sit down and eat a pizza or watch shitty reality TV or even sleep with him, sometimes. 

But if maybe Match feels like he has to leave, when he doesn’t have the “right” excuse to stick around anymore . . . 

Kon digs his fingers into Match’s ribs. Match squirms again–clutches up tighter around his dick again–and Kon licks the back of his teeth. 

He rolls his hips again, and Match whimpers again. A quiver goes up his thighs, and Kon presses him down against the top of the dresser and slides his hands down to grip his ass and knead in tight. 

“Daddy,” Match whines half-senselessly, and Kon loops an arm tight around his waist and nuzzles roughly into the crook of his neck and up his throat. Match clutches up even fucking tighter and Kon manages to make what should probably be a groan of overstimulated pain into a dirty grunt and rock his cock in to the root. Match whimpers louder, his ass pressing back pleadingly and fingers gouging the dresser again. 

Kon’s probably just gonna need to, like, fucking destroy the furniture after this, or else people might figure out exactly what kind of superpowers tore up this room and shit might get awkward, Kryptonian-ly speaking. Like, definitely he doesn’t want some rando tabloid reporter or online influencer asking Clark, “hey Superman, someone with your exact build and set of superpowers who kept their face carefully concealed from all the security cameras broke this paid-in-cash motel room somewhere in the Pacific Northwest with a sex marathon with an unknown partner; care to comment?” 

Yeah, definitely not. 

[one-annon]

PROTECTIVE ADAM DRABBLE

haha hi guys... so huge shout out to @quinngefail for trusting me enough to write out a bit for this idea they had! really not my best writing but its okay, i still had fun writing it <3 heavy tw! slight fatshaming and disability shame!! dont be like these guys

adam was never the protective type. he knew lawrence could hold himself up and he knew he could protect himself. he had no reason to be mean to others. of course, there were times where he would tell someone to fuck off. he hated it when people would stare at lawrence. not only was staring rude (funny from a voyeur huh?), but lawrence was his. the older man belonged to adam and he had a ring on his finger to prove it.

the two of them knew their limits with each other but others didn't. which, in adams opinion, it should be common fucking sense. who the fuck would comment on a guy's weight? thats like…asking if a woman is pregnant. well. he actually doesnt know if that translates right but…you get the point, don't you?

like that one time when they were at a restaurant. they were sitting across from each other, lawrence had ordered a nice glass of wine and adam had a dr pepper. really, they needed the rest. hard week for them both. they had been patiently waiting for their food and once it finally was in front of them, these fucking kids were seated across from their table.

both of them paid no mind. it didnt matter. truly, looking back at it, they shouldve left them alone. but in adams defense, they were looking at larry wrong. his larry.

"you really think hes gonna eat all that?" "course he is. look at him!"

adam had heard the whispers, he noticed the stares. he inhaled slowly, trying to keep his cool. he wouldnt ruin their date. not over this. taking a quick peek up at his stunning date, he took note of how unbothered lawrence seemed. maybe it bothered him more than it did the blond. or maybe not. he didnt even know of larry had heard those fuckers talking. he knew the man's hearing was getting just a little worse. he didnt mind. it worked. adam was loud anyway.

he let his hand move over toward lawrence's, locking their fingers together and watching him take a few bites of his meal. it wasnt a ton of food. he didn't get the issue. steak, a salad he had already finished, and a bowl of soup. of course, he also ordered fries that were mostly just something adam could steal off his plate, and they had shared mozzarella sticks and chips for an appetizer. but that wasnt too much. that was a good amount of food. they had no reason to make fun of him but adam had every reason to knock their fucking teeth in.

larry's gaze caught adams, a soft smile pairing with those beautiful blue eyes. he didn't seem bothered. not one bit.

"could you uh..go get me a drink, lar?" he asked, nodding over to the bar near the back of the restaurant. he wanted to have a small word with the very kind people next to him.

"oh, of course." lawrence lifted his hand, pressing a loving kiss to his knuckles. he always treated adam like a princess. would that make lawrence the princess' bride? haha. adam's never seen the princess bride and neither has the author. sorry.

the blonde took his cane in his hand, huffing out a tired breath as he stood up. "easy on your leg.." adam warned, watching him carefully and staying on high guard to make sure he didnt need to step up and assist his lover. he was fine. he could handle himself, adam. calm down. he heard the people across from them snicker. their eyes followed lawrence as he left for the bar and adam couldnt have been more pissed.

adam turned in his seat, eyes wide with the insane urge to set the building ablaze and a smile so sarcastically pissed off that he felt he could be the next big actor. he spread his legs just a little, letting his elbows rest on his knees. he clasped his hands together, staring directly at the table. "hey there!" he greeted, the gears in his head running on just enough cigarette smoke to keep the 'protect lawrence' and his 'destroy everything and everyone in your way' gears in overdrive and the 'think rationally' and 'work this out' gears held at a complete stop.

the table focused their attention onto adam, one of the members cocking an eyebrow and mimicking his positioning. of course, adam wasnt expecting them to take him seriously. how could they? he wasnt anything special. he was just an average looking loser with a boyfriend who owns a fucking bmw.

"hey there back!"

adam hated that fucking smile. little fucking demons is what they were. he lifted his head to check on lawrence. he was still at the bar, chatting with the bartender and waiting ever so patiently for adams drink. he wasnt even sure what he was getting and truly he didnt care. he had bigger problems to handle at the moment. "is there a fuckin' problem here?" he tilted his head.

the person mocking him shrugged. "im not sure what youre talking about."

the shorter had to resist the urge to stand and slam his hands on the table. of course they didnt know. why would they know what they just fucking did? that makes so much sense that adam almost forgot why he was about to break their fucking teeth in! almost.

"yknow, youre not exactly quiet when it comes to shit talking people. though, i suppose you would really like it for someone to do the same to you, yeah?" he motions to the outfit of another member. "like how your shirt has a cute little logo for nirvana on it but i bet you cant name three songs by the damn band, huh?"

before they could defend themselves, adam continued. "or how you," he pointed to another member, "have that beautiful necklace on! oh my it looks so expensive! but yknow i saw the same thing at claires! and, really i would say your outfit makes up for it but green just is not your color. i would maybe go for a dumpster fire red next time! which i dunno, i think a nice bitch blue would go great for all of you!"

one of the members stood up, which caused adams confidence to falter just slightly. he straightened himself up, his brain suddenly racking through old memory files to find the fight tips that scott had given him. just in case.

"who the fuck do you think you are, dude?" they shouted. other tables turned to look at the pair. adam wasnt sure what to do, so he did what he did best. he imagined it was scott. truly, he did this for every fight. it was a lot easier yelling at that fucknut than some stranger.

adam vaguely pointed to the bar, "oh, so its okay for you to insult my fiance but i cant insult you? i mean, cmon, i just told you that you all had trash outfits! you fucks were making fun of his body! not so fuckin' fun when its you is it?"

he wouldve keep going. he shouldve kept going. if it wasnt for lawrence wobbling his way back with a beer bottle in hand, adam probably wouldve gotten physical. larry carefully slid his way back into the booth, setting the drink down. the doctor took note of how riled up adam and the other table seemed to be. now that the member of the group had sat and adam had his drink, they could continue their date.

"i heard you shouting." lawrence whispered in that all too calm voice of his. "you dont have to defend me, adam. people are going to make fun of me, i know it. but i can handle it. im an adult too."

adam scoffed as he took a sip of his beer, "i fuckin hate people, larry."

"i know you do, sweetheart."

the date ended soon after, a quick kiss and a hefty bill that adam was shocked lawrence was able to pay for in full cash concluding their time spent at the restaurant. adam gave the table a very nice fuck you flip off as they left, taking larry's - his larry's - hand in his own and leading them out to that fancy ass bmw.

______

how 2 write ending?

[fidgetspringer-art]

Was looking through my notes app and found this little Noah and Martin blurb that I had plans of turning into a little comic (and still might) but I think the writing itself is worth sharing c:

Martin turns up just when Noah is starting to think he's succeeded in leaving unnoticed. He should have known better. He's tried fleeing from Martin's bed a few times before, but with how light of a sleeper he is, Martin always notices.

The gravel crunches under Martin's boots as he walks up.

Noah ignores him, keeps his back turned as he stuffs his clothes haphazardly into his saddle bags, eager to be off before Martin can say too much. It's early morning still, the sun barely threatening to creep above the horizon. It's warm, he's been awake most of the night, tossing and turning in the stifling heat of Martin's bedroom. He tugs the strap of one of his bags shut with force.

Every little sound coming from behind him ramps up his already bubbling frustration. There's the slight shuffle of Martin's feet, and Noah just knows he's gearing up to say something. He's yet to outright ask Noah to stay, but the words are still there, held in that awful tension between them. Martin shuffles again. It grates on Noah's nerves until his jaw aches with how hard he's clenching his teeth.

He doesn't jump, but he does flinch when Martin finally speaks up.

"Got you something."

Noah bites back his irritation and turns to look. Martin is holding out a small rectangular box towards him, the plastic glossy and clear.

It isn't until Noah takes it that he realises what it is. "A tape? How am i supposed to listen to this?" He gestures to his disaster of a bike as if to say, 'where's the tape deck, idiot?'

Martin's face falls. "Oh." He looks away, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always does when he's embarrassed. "Right."

Noah regrets his words immediately, but he doesn't know how to take them back. They're both silent for a moment that seems to stretch on for too long. The plastic of the cassette tape in his hands is cool to the touch. Noah looks down at it. Inside the case is a torn out piece of what must have been a page from a notebook. In Martin's hasty hand it says 'For the road' in blue pen, with what must be Martin's best attempt at drawing a motorcycle next to it. It's a mixtape, Noah realises. One that Martin put together for him.

Noah feels the guilt like the sharp point of a knife against his heart. He tucks the tape into his jacket pocket. Martin is still not looking at him, just frowning down at the ground.

"Hey." Noah says, keeping his tone light. "Saw you had a new horse down in the front pasture, tell me about it?"

That finally has Martin meeting his eyes with a small smile. Both of them understanding that this is Noah's way of apologising. He's never been very good at the real deal.

Noah finishes packing his bags to the sound of Martin explaining why the mare is in for training and how he's planning to solve her problems. He's using a bunch of terms that Noah doesn't understand, but that's okay, that small smile stays on Martin's face while he talks and that's all that matters.

Months later, Noah pulls over to the side of the road. He's surrounded by pitch dark woods. There are ghosts or worse howling at his heels, he's sure of it. Still, he puts the kickstand down and gets off his bike. He leans back against the solid weight of it and with trembling hands he pulls the smooth plastic case free from his pocket.

The old walkman he picked up from a second hand store a few towns back sits at the top of his saddle bag. The ear pieces feel strange when he pulls them over his head. The cassette clicks as he inserts it and when he hits the button there's a few seconds of crackling static before the first song fills his ears.

He buries his face in his hands and suddenly he's in the Bronco. Martin is next to him. They're checking fences, driving down the bumpy gravel road towards the back pasture.

Martin's neck is sunburnt. There's dust clinging to the fabric of his jeans. It's been dry for weeks, too dry, Martin says. Noah's shirt is clingy with sweat.

Martin turns the radio up and hums along, mumbling a few lines under his breath. There's the faintest bit of a smile curving the edge of his mouth, like there's nowhere else he'd rather be.

Noah pulls his hood over his head and ignores the chill of the forest biting at his cheeks.

[hannahbarberra162]

Heat Transfer, Chapter 4 (Platonic Yandere WBP x Sea Naga)

On Ao3

<3 Thank you to @gouraminnow for Beta-ing this and all my thoughts <3

All the other chapters

Baby's first swear :3

Your POV

You watched Ace’s fire hand wide eyed and curious. He was made of fire , that’s why he was so warm, that’s why he could heat rooms so easily, that’s why you were drawn to him. Your sisters had told you some humans were special but not that they could be made of fire. You watched as Ace heated the food and popped the eye in his mouth, crunching it between his embarrassingly flat teeth. You weren’t sure when he became fire and he became flesh, but you were interested.

“ ‘S good,” he said in a happy tone, extinguishing the fire and curling his fingers into his palm and extending only his thumb upwards. You hesitantly brought your forefinger to touch his thumb, trying to determine the trigger for when he turned into fire. When his thumb didn’t ignite, you took his hand and uncurled his fingers gently, rubbing his hand with the pads of your finger. Ace watched you calmly, letting you take his larger hand in your own webbed one. Scraping at his palm gently with a claw so as not to harm him, he seemed to be made of normal human flesh once again. 

“H-hey, that tickles,” he said, yanking his hand away from you. Did you make him annoyed? You wished you could communicate with him easily but you appreciated that he was speaking to you so much, you were hoping to learn human quickly. You clawed another eye out of the fish, extending it to him. You wanted him to make the fire again, maybe he could only summon it for food? He looked at you with his brows drawn slightly and his head tilted, but shrugged and turned his hand to fire once more. You watched intently, looking above and below his wrist for the billowing flames to engulf him. Reaching out, you grasped his forearm below the flame - it was perfectly fine, uncharred and surprisingly not overly warm. Curious. How much of his body could he make into flame?

“Oh, that’s what you want? Heh. Watch this,” Ace said to you as he chewed the second eye. You hoped he appreciated it, those were your favorite parts of the fish. You were taken aback as Ace’s lower half turned to flames, propelling the small boat towards the larger one at a rapid pace. It felt like when your sisters let you hold on to their hair when they swam - freedom coming as fast as you could take it. You laughed out loud with your mouth wide open, something your sisters told you was entirely from your human half, winding your tail around the pole in the middle of the boat. You threw your arms in the air, feeling your hair whip around your face. Pushing yourself higher on your tail, you closed your eyes and enjoyed the rush that came with moving so quickly as Ace maneuvered the boat towards the larger ship. Looking at it, you realized the front looked like a happy whale, which you found charming. Maybe the Captain could turn into a whale like Ace could turn into fire? It would explain his larger size and maybe he could swim with you in the sea.

It was already night when Ace brought you back to the ship, the smell of food wafting through the air. You wanted to show that you were capable and a worthy fighter so you quickly dove into the water to retrieve a fish for Meatman to cook. Maybe he’d be impressed with your kill - or better yet - cook it for you to eat. Biting a rather large Bananafish that was lingering near the side of the ship, you hauled it up the rope ladder, looped in your tail as Ace moored his boat to the larger one. As your toxin spread the fish stopped wiggling though you knew it was still alive, keeping it perfectly fresh, how humans liked. 

Reaching the top deck, you slithered towards the food that was being laid on the large tables. The Meatman would likely be near if he was the one preparing the food. You stabbed the fish through with your talons in order to slither better. Finding the unique head adornment of Meatman, you came closer to him. He was clearly in the middle of preparing the great feast but you wanted to give him your present while it was alive. You scrunched your face trying to remember what greeting the humans usually gave one another besides ‘hi,’ you’d heard it before….

“Oi!” you settled on, throwing the fish at his feet. Though surprised at your presence, Meatman quickly bared his teeth at you in happiness. Almost too happily, you thought with suspicion. You’d keep your distance, this one was more devious than he let on. But..you had bitten him twice and he didn’t even seem upset about it, so maybe he was just…like that.

“Baby! Oh my seas, you brought me a fish! Thank you, oh - it’s…still alive….but not moving…how very thoughtful! ” the cook said to you, taking the fish in hand. He bowed his head, showing his appreciation. It was a universal gesture, your sisters bowing their heads slightly when you’d help them in some kind of way, like removing debris from their hair.

It was a pleasant night though a bit chilly, you thought as you glanced around for some warmth. Spotting Fossa, you headed over to him, winding your body around his torso underneath his vest since Ace still wasn’t on the deck. He had a smoke stick lit in his mouth, the putrid smoke billowing as he spoke to another human.

“ Oi, Baby. Warn me next time, yer fuckin’ freezin’,” Fossa grumbled as he adjusted you closer to his body. You inspected the pocket that had held the biscuits but the two of you had drained it earlier, there were no sweets there. Grumbling, you flicked your tail as Fossa continued to talk to another human while everyone waited for dinner. This one dressed differently, his robes as smooth as his long black hair. He had paint on his face, something novel for you. Apparently your sisters had glossed over a lot in your discussions about humans. He was glancing at you curiously, like you were a puzzle to be solved. 

“Bring her here,” the painted man said, taking a small comb out of his hair. Fossa grunted and moved you around so you were facing the new man. 

“ “S like moving a wet noodle,” Fossa growled, supporting your tail carefully on his forearm.

 “Izou,” the painted man said, pointing at himself. 

“Baby,” you said, pointing at your own chest. The painted man took the comb and ran it through his hair, the black strands parting with ease. He handed it to you, obviously expecting you to do the same. Maela had given you a mother-of-pearl comb when you were a child that you used to comb your hair but it had broken many years prior. Since then you’d just used your fingers when you felt that your hair was getting too matted, but it had always been low on your priority list. You tried to run the comb through your blonde hair like Izou had, but it got stuck quickly. You shrugged and tried to hand it back to him. He didn’t accept the comb, instead curling your fingers around it to show you it was yours now. You weren’t sure if he was insulting you and telling you how unkempt you were or if he was being kind and gifting you with something. You stuck it into your hair, where it was held in place by your mats, like an adornment.

“One day I’ll work those out for you,” Izou said, reaching for your head. If he patted your head like Ace did all the time, you were going to…well, not bite. You’d learned your lesson and you’d do nearly anything to avoid the muzzle again. Speaking of Ace, he was approaching you with a wistful glance at the nearly ready food on the table. 

“Baby, are you bothering Fossa?” Ace asked you, noting the comb in your hair as Izou picked up pieces of your hair for his inspection. 

“ ‘S not bothering,” Fossa said dismissively as you unwound from his body. Fossa was warm, sure, but nothing like Ace. You quickly wound yourself around his much smaller but much hotter body, pressing your face into the warmth of his shoulder and looping your arms around his neck. Sighing contentedly, you waited for Ace to walk towards the food now that other humans were sitting down at the table. 

“Should get you some clothes, huh?” Ace asked in a tone that suggested a question. You weren’t sure what he was asking but he’d show you soon enough. Ace found a chair large enough for the two of you to sit together and sat down to begin the meal.

Ace POV

Well, it turned out Sea Naga couldn’t hold their alcohol. Or maybe just Baby couldn’t. Either way, Baby was largely out of commission. The night had started innocently enough, with Pops giving a short speech welcoming Baby to the ship. Someone had put a large mug of ale in her hand which she’d sniffed apprehensively then drank as she saw the rest of the crew tipping their cups back when Pops finished speaking. Smacking her lips, Baby evidently enjoyed the taste and greedily gulped down the rest of the brew. She pushed her empty cup into Ace’s side repeatedly as he ate.

“Ace,” Baby said, ramming his ribs with the mug.

“ Ow, No,” Ace said with his mouth full of food. He wasn’t sure but it probably wasn’t a good idea to give Baby too much to drink.  Baby hissed her displeasure, crossing her arms. She’d eaten a few plates of meat but between that and the fish she’d eaten on Strike she seemed more interested in drinking.

“Aw, c’mon, let her live a little,” argued Thatch, who set another metal platter of meat in front of Ace. Ace picked his teeth with his fingernail as Baby bashed him again with her cup.

“Fine, she can have a little more. That’s it, I don’t -” Ace began as Thatch picked up a pitcher to fill Baby’s cup. She beamed at him in a wide toothy grin and snatched the pitcher from the chef, letting the cup topple to the floor. Ace watched her unhinge her jaw to drink more efficiently, allowing the pitcher to drop like the cup had previously once the container was drained. Ace was still jamming meat into his mouth but about to reprimand Baby for her foolishness when  Ace felt himself falling asleep. He set his arms on the table like Marco had shown him to do and laid his head down. The last thing he remembered seeing was Baby poking his cheek, a soft hiss escaping her worried face.

Ace awoke some time later with a wool blanket draped over his shoulders, as he always did after a fit of narcolepsy on the ship. Blinking his eyes open, he shoved the food from his plate into his mouth reflexively, almost unaware he was eating. No one else was still dining, most were either drinking and talking in small groups or had moved to the main deck for the same activity. He heard a commotion from over on the main deck and meandered over to see what was happening. There was a ring of crew encircling some fight - Ace could tell it was friendly from the lack of jeers and blood spatters on the floor. As one of the shortest members on board, Ace had to push his way to the front to see who was fighting. He often participated himself, enjoying the challenge of wrestling without his Devil Fruit abilities.

“GIT ‘ER BORS!” yelled out Curiel as Ace saw Baby in the middle of the ring, wrestling with the aforementioned Bors. She had a loop of her tail around Bors' ankle as he loomed over her with a bow staff. Ace was infuriated and was about to intervene when Baby’s tail wrapped all the way around the significantly larger man's torso in one fluid movement, trapping his arms under her tail. She grabbed the staff from the man’s hand like she was taking it from a child and threw it skittering across the deck.

“Fuckin’ can’t! She’s godfuckingdamnit so slippery and…tails stronger than ow whatthefuck it looks,” yelled back the crewman from the 10th division as he started turning red in the face. Baby smiled as she wound her tail tighter and tighter, constricting his breathing until the man was turning blue. 

“I’m not healing you if she cracks your ribs!” Marco yelled from his perch near Pops. Marco often didn't heal those who willingly fought each other using his Devil Fruit, saying it was their due for engaging in foolishness. 

Baby had her torso on the ground and was tapping her claws against the deck in a show of boredom as Bors tapped his hand against her to tap out. As soon as he conceded, Baby immediately unwound herself and Bors landed hard on hands and knees, heaving in rough breaths. Baby whooped and cheered for her victory along with the assembled crew.

“Winner! Unbeaten so far, who can take on the mighty Baby? Tenth division is out, eleventh division now! Kingdew, who're you sending?” boomed out Fossa, collecting money from grumbling crew members who'd lost their bets against Baby.

“No one, she’s done,” yelled Ace, pushing himself into the circle, taking large strides towards Baby. He was loudly booed by the assembled crowd which was quickly mimicked by Baby.

“Yeah, yeah. Tell it to the Captain. And stop swearing around her!” Ace yelled at the crowd as he approached the still booing Baby. 

“She was doin’ fuckin’ great,” Fossa said, handing Ace the Berri he’d collected from her bets. Ace put the massive amounts of paper in his pockets as Fossa pushed Ace's chest with a giant finger. “Those are her winnings , Runt. Let ‘er buy what she wants with ‘em,” he said, reaching to pat Baby on the head. She pretended to snap her fangs at him but was clearly playing. “All right ye bums, fight’s over with Baby, but plenty more to come! Over yonder!” Fossa boomed towards the assembled crew. “Good job, kid,” Fossa said to Baby, tugging her long ear gently, earning him a lick of her tongue against his hand. Ace felt a twinge of jealousy curl in his gut as the familiarity between his Sea Naga and the crew grew. Shaking it off, Ace focused on the teetering Baby, who was looking for more beer amongst the empty barrels. As Ace approached Baby, she swayed slightly on her tail as she smiled at him and thumped the tip of her tail loudly against the deck.

“Fight,” she said happily, throwing her arms in the air. 

“Yeah, fight,” Ace replied, picking her up at the thickest part of her tail and torso. She let herself fall into his arms, almost like she was boneless. She was cold and smelled like ale and spirits, Ace wondered how much she’d drank while he was passed out. Quite a bit if he based it on her floppy limbs and current hurried speech. She was speaking rapidly in Naga, Ace wished he could understand what she was saying. Based on her hand motions, she was recounting her fights against the crew mixed with a few mentions of his own name. He’d never heard her say so much in one go before and found the sibilant sounds of her serpent language to be quite pleasant. He wanted to encourage her to speak in her own language more often; it was beautiful in a haunting way, like the sounds of the wind whipping through a sea grotto.

“Winner,” she said proudly, her fingers clenched into a fist. Ace’s heart swelled with pride as if he'd taught her to fight himself. 

“Good job, Baby,” he said, kissing the top of her head as he walked to take her to bed. He didn’t want her fighting the crew but he was glad she was able to hold her own in case of a skirmish. He should give her some lessons, he mused, to make her an even stronger fighter. He couldn't imagine she'd often fought opponents at her level, probably just killed for food. Ace had taught Sabo and Luffy, surely he could handle teaching Baby. He’d work with her on ground fighting and ask Namur for help teaching her more down below the sea. It was a good idea, but not for tonight. Right now Baby was in the woozy part of drinking too much, still babbling happily to him. Entering the ship, Baby thumped the paddled end of her tail against the wall as he walked towards his cabin, the staccato beats matching the falls of his footsteps on the wood floors. 

Baby was almost completely reclined in Ace’s arms when he opened his door with his foot. She picked up her head and swiveled it slowly towards Ace, her furrowed brow and flicking tongue indicating her unfamiliarity with her surroundings. Ace wished his room was tidier but between the construction and the...general disarray his room was always in, it was pretty messy. There wasn't much in the room besides Ace's bed and his completely paper-covered desk and now Baby's crate. Baby flicked her tongue with increasing speed, wiggling out of Ace’s arms and plopping without grace onto the floor. Baby slithered hesitantly towards the crate, tongue lashing out every few seconds. She touched the bars of the crate, turning towards Ace with wide eyes. It was larger than Stefan's crate but the idea behind it was the same. It was constructed of wood with metal bars on the sides and it was large enough for Baby to curl up in. Ace had placed the furs and bones he'd taken from her cave inside as a surprise to acclimate her to the cage. 

“Assse, no,” she whispered, pulling on the bars of the crate, her drunkenness extending the consonants of his name. Ace looked at her face as her smile faded, looking more like the Naga he’d found earlier that day in the brig. She reached inside with the tip of her tail, pulling out one of the furs that Ace had brought for her. Putting it around her shoulders and fastening it with a bone clip he’d brought as well, Baby turned towards Ace.

“No, Assse,” she asked again, her ears pointing down in defeat and lip wobbling in stark contrast to her winning attitude just moments before.  Ace sighed, and closed his eyes. He was so tired, he’d worked hard all day long, he didn’t have energy for another confrontation with Baby. 

“Fine, you don’t have to sleep there tonight. You’re wasted anyway, I kinda wanna keep an eye on you,” Ace said with a yawn. He kicked off his boots into the corner of his messy room, he didn’t have much more gas in his tank. Crawling into his bed, he patted the spare space next to him and said “Baby, come here.” Baby immediately brightened up and slithered to Ace’s bed. She took off her fur and wound her body all around Ace’s much like the first time they slept next to one another. She pressed her chest to Ace’s side and placed her head on his chest. Ace inhaled a deep breath and held it in exhaling into Baby’s tangled hair. Hopefully Marco didn’t find out Baby wasn’t in the crate - but how would he? Ace’s thoughts drifted as he felt Baby’s breath even out, her little tongue accidentally flicking his nipple. 

Your POV

What. the. Fuck.

But really, what the fuck was wrong with humans? They invented a great beverage that tasted delightful and made you feel wonderful but the next morning it felt like an animal was living inside your head and died in your mouth. Your head was pounding with the worst headache you’d ever felt, your mouth was dry and you felt like regurgitating like when you’d eaten something too big whole. Thrashing around, you found Ace wasn’t there but had covered you with one of your old furs and some of his blankets. You did like his scent but you missed the warmth his body provided. 

Rolling yourself onto the floor, you slowly slithered away from the bed and to the bathroom. After relieving yourself, you gulped down some water with your hands. Leaving the bathroom, you twisted the knob to the main hallway, you found it open thankfully. You slithered so low to the ground you might as well have been a real snake but you didn’t have the energy to pick yourself any further off the floor. Everything was too loud, too bright, and too fragrant for you to attempt to be upright.

You smelled cooking food and headed that way. Either someone would feed you, you’d find Ace, or the Harpy would put you out of your misery - anything was fine by you right now. Entering the room with the food, you scanned for Ace. He was rapidly shoveling yellow and white blobs into his mouth but waved when he saw you. They smelled great and he started preparing you a plate of blobs from a platter while you were approaching.

“Hi Baby!” he chirped as you sat next to him. You thought about stabbing him with the knife but decided against it. He hadn’t invented the beverage, it wasn’t his fault you drank so much.

“Fuck,” you replied, leaning your head on your hand. The table went silent as Ace narrowed his eyes.

“What did you say?” he asked quietly.

“FUCK,” you repeated loudly, rubbing your face with your hand in annoyance. You were in no mood for silly communication games. 

“GOD DAMMIT GUYS! WHO TAUGHT HER TO SAY FUCK!?” Ace yelled at the laughing humans sitting nearby. Ace was about to yell again but you took your hand and put it over his mouth. You couldn’t listen to another loud sound or you were going to explode. 

“Fuck,” you said, pointing to him. “Fuck,” you said, pointing to Fossa and Namur. Fossa gave a pleased grunt while Namur extended his thumb upwards. “Fuck,” you said, pointing to Curiel, who laughed as he ate. You repeated the phrase and pointed to everyone at the table except for Izou, all decidedly happy at your use of the word. “Fuck,” you said with finality, eating the blobs off your plate while Ace pouted with his arms crossed.

Oh, they were warm, cooked eggs! The chef was a complete genius, you’d had eggs you’d taken from bird’s nests before but never thought to cook them. You’d have to give him another fish for this incredible creation. Like Ace, you started shoveling them into your mouth as fast as you could as he poured you a hot beverage in a ceramic mug adorned with the Leader’s symbol. 

“Try this. It’s coffee. Might help your hangover,” Ace grumbled at you, displeased by your new favorite word. You tasted the bitter liquid, unsure if it would cause you harm or not. It wasn’t as good as the one from the night before but you drank it anyway. It tasted earthy and gave your belly a pleasant feeling of warmth as you continued to eat with your hands. Ace handed you a piece of pronged metal like the one he held in his own hand. Confused, you took it but set it down on the table. You didn’t need it - couldn’t he see you had claws?  You kept eating and Ace didn’t bother you again about it though he watched you curiously. 

When you’d finished eating and drinking the coffee and a few cups of water, you felt a little better. Ace waited for you while you finished and you followed him up to the top deck of the ship. Everyone was bustling around, doing whatever it was that humans did for work. Flicking your tongue out, you detected the smell of the Harpy. He was nearby but not close enough for you to see. Ace was talking to a group of humans, exchanging papers with them. Watching the humans like you would observe wild animals in their natural habitat, Ace looked up and caught your eye, speaking to you while holding a bunch of papers in his hands.

“Ok, Baby. I gotta go. You can hang out here or go find Namur? I’m not sure where he is right now  -”

“Ace, you need to look at this before we -” other humans cut off Ace, garnering his attention once more. You figured he was busy doing whatever it was that he did, and slithered off to go rest in the sun. It was warmer than it had been previous days and you felt like complete shit so you felt entitled to sit and do nothing. Though, now that you thought about it, there wasn’t really much for you to do on the ship. On your island you’d been preoccupied with your survival, spending most of your time hunting, tanning hides, gathering wood, things like that. When you did have time, you liked to swim for fun or look for shells and interesting objects on the beach. Here, all of those things were done for you. You dind’t have to hunt or gather fuel and there was no beach to comb through. Sure, you could swim and hunt for fish but you weren’t sure what the parameters around that were. You'd figure out a way to ask Ace later about swimming and catching fish.

Deciding that was a problem for you in the future, you slithered to the large Captain of the ship, who was drowsing in his chair. For someone as large as the Captain, he didn’t seem to move too much. He had strings going to his nose and arm as he rested in the morning sun. Smaller humans wearing pink were attending to him. Looking them over, you supposed they were female humans, since they contrasted so heavily with the hairier humans you’d already seen. They looked similar to you in some ways, though their mammary glands were far more pronounced than yours were currently. They had long hair in various colors, though none as light as your own. They chattered between them, giving you cursory glances but not bothering you as you greeted the Captain with a hiss.

Climbing up his arms, he opened an eye as you crawled up his large body but didn't object outright. Settling down across his shoulders like you had before, you listened to the sounds of his breathing as the ship sailed along in the good weather. You closed your eyes, stretched out in a vulnerable position, content to let the Captain’s presence deter any potential danger while you slept. Slumber was upon you when you heard an unpleasant voice.

“Oh, she’s already here. Good, I was hoping to extract her venom today yoi. Let me -” you didn’t hear the rest of the sentence as you snapped like a rubber band into a defensive position and slithered down the far side of the Captain’s chair. You wanted to avoid conflict with the Harpy if at all possible rather than confront him directly. The Captain rumbled some kind of response but you were already on the railing of the ship, preparing to jump off. If you had to swim behind the ship for hours, so be it, you’d take that over being near the Harpy any day.

“Not so fast,” you heard the Harpy say as you lept, already in the air. The Harpy caught you in his talons mid-jump to your shock. It reminded you of the flight he’d taken you on when he’d kidnapped you from your island. You curled around his legs, trying to crack his bones but for some reason the Harpy was immune to your attacks. “Stop that,” he admonished you, as he dropped you back on the deck. You were panicked, you didn’t know what to do but felt the need to escape. You didn’t want to bite him - that was a sure way to get the muzzle back on - but he clearly wanted you for something and you didn’t want to find out what that was.

The Harpy brought out a covered jar from his pocket, showing it to you. You eyed it suspiciously, unsure what its purpose was. He then fished out a dried hank of meat from his sash and held it in front of himself, as if to give it to you.

“Come, you can have this. Yes, this is for you yoi. Come,” the Harpy repeated the command, wanting you to move towards him. Wary of his intentions, you ignored what he said and tried to make another escape. You weren't going to be fooled by his bait and switch trap like a simple minded animal.

“This can be done easily if you cooperate. Or not, if you prefer it that way,” the Harpy said, sighing. You were already turning back to the railing as he cornered you against the wall of the boat. Faster than you were able to detect with your eyes, he had you in a headlock with one arm, the other pushing on the underside of your mandible, a large taloned leg pinning a portion of your tail to the deck. The pressure he was putting on your jaw forced you to open your mouth and extend your fangs against your will. Once your fangs were extended, he pushed one through the cap of the jar and continued pressing against the soft underside of your jaw, causing your bite reflex to activate. You tried hissing your anger but the positioning of your mouth made it impossible. He exerted so much pressure in such an exact spot, his course of action must have been premeditated.

You thrashed your tail as hard as you could, attacking his arms with your claws, even trying to go limp to wriggle away but nothing worked. You found he was also made of flames, but not like Ace whose flames were made of fire. The Harpy’s flames protected him from anything you did, making your actions futile. Though it couldn’t have been more than a minute, your acute humiliation felt like it went on for eternity. You didn’t know why he had to do this now , in front of the Captain, in order to humiliate you. You guessed that he was being prevented from eating you and wanted to take his revenge but you didn’t have a clear understanding. Last night as you’d wrestled the other humans it almost made you feel like you belonged with them but the Harpy was quick to remind you that you were a captive, a nothing. 

Finally, the Harpy finished collecting your venom and pulled the jar off your fang, tilting the jar to inspect the contents. He didn’t release you though, he kept you in place as he put the jar back in his pocket.

“I don’t see Ace and you can’t roam around by yourself on the deck, it’s not safe. Maybe one day, but not today. Come,” he said to you, giving you the same hand motion as Stefan. You had no choice but to follow him as he lead you back towards Ace’s room. He was stronger, faster, and in a position of power on the ship over you. There was no point in trying to argue with him like you did Ace since the Harpy was undeterred in his actions no matter how you reacted. 

You kept your head down as you followed to Ace’s room, the scent of Ace combined with your furs and bones increasing with every slither you made towards the room. Once inside, the Harpy opened the door to the cage and motioned for you to enter. You slithered inside, curling up so all of you could fit within. He shut the locked door to the cage and crouched down to observe you inside. You turned your head away, not wanting to see the victory likely present in his eyes. He placed the hank of meat between the bars near your tail and stood up to leave. He closed the door to the room as he left, your freedom no closer than it had been the day before.

taglist: @mfreedomstuff

[convictsinterim]

Jason is a cycle breaker, in that he is not a "Good" one but he is cognizant of it and also someone who does direct action about it. Not only is he someone actively aware of the cyclical and never-ending pileup of bodies in the attempts to uphold the emotionally invested rule of one man—he confronts the selfishness surrounding that decision and how it's affected so many people, especially him personally.

Dick does recognize some of the tells of manipulation and of imbalance in his relationship with Bruce, but he does not connect the physical abuse/domestic abuse he sees as a cop in Blüdhaven to the physical abuse Bruce doles out to him. He doesn't connect that he's being emotionally abused, the psychological stranglehold Bruce has on him, the paranoia that spawns out of that.

Bruce never even has to be around for Dick to be burdened by what his father thinks of him—the pater familias. Jason, though? Jason stepped out of that cage and is dancing outside of it. The shackles that bind Dick have always been unlocked. All Dick has to do is step outside the cage. It's why Jason triggered Dick so much in New Earth and why Dick was so antagonistic towards him, mean and even seemingly apathetic.

Seeing someone freely express their loud and turbulent displeasure, list their grievances and not back down to bury the hatchet, gnash their teeth and demand something more and something better incenses someone like Dick. Dick has argued, he has fought, he has yelled, but of it all and at the end of the day he will still go back to Bruce. Jason though? He cannot lie down. He will bite the hand that beats every single time, and strike at the eyes that watch. Jason can forgive, he can move on—it's literally all he wanted to do—but he couldn't without proper answers and he couldn't just 'move on' when Bruce continued making the same mistake ad nauseam with no change. Jason cannot be complacent.

Additionally, from Dick and Jason's shared kinship, Jason can get at the CORE of why Dick is so complacent, where other's maybe cannot. Jason knows it because Dick doesn't want to lose yet another parent. Jason would know, because he's lost all fucking four of his. One after the other, after the other, after the other. Dick holds onto things with his teeth, too, after all.

Dick is someone suffocated under the black tar Bruce has buried him into. Jason crawled out of the tar. He's still poisoned, but he's making it work!

This is why forcing Dick to interact more with Jason is like catnip to me xD

Jason's own cognizance and awareness as a whole is why crashing Jason into a character like Dick, someone great at self-delusion, is literally the most interesting thing you could do relationship wise—especially romantically.

Jason poses such a narrative and internal challenge for characters, he makes character arcs essentially requisite! He makes plots spin by stepping onto center stage. That is how a long term in-character Jason works. He forces change in some capacity, he addresses complacence. (It's why DC wasn't able to keep him up and full strength, he got diluted into… puddle sludge, mostly through Prime Earth and less so through Daniels and Morrison. Because even with Morrison, Jason still had more fucking teeth.)

Needless to say, transformative fiction also disrupts the status quo so push it in that direction of transformation—of change! I love challenging characters, ESPECIALLY basket-cases, and making them actually change or evolve as people and exploring them in ways that otherwise wouldn't ever get published.

Jason really does far more for Dick's character than Dick does for Jason's, when speaking from a developmental point of view. Speaking from a personal view, I do not want Dick to die beholden to the Batman and his black hole ego that leeches Dicks sanity away from him at every turn.

What Dick offers to Jason is this: loyalty once earned, respect, trust, and genuine unconditional love. A chance to be accepted by someone he really respects and looked up to, a chance to help someone help themself, a chance to foundationally have a profound effect on someone and that effect be positive!

What Jason offers to Dick is this: everything aforementioned, and freedom. Genuine freedom, under no pretenses or expectations that need to be met. There's no 'failing' to meet a quota, there's no forcing Dick into roles he doesn't want but will take anyway because Dick cannot easily say no. And great exposure therapy to help Dick stop pathologizing/moralizing every single one of his actions against a nonexistent jury filled with Batmen.

And so I offer to you, an incredibly complicated and interesting endeavour with many conquests!

actually can any dickjay shippers explain to me what the appeal is. i want to understand your vision please